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THE SAYINGS 


DR. BUSHWHACKER, 

AND 

OTHER LEARNED MEN. 


BY 

•FREDERIC S. COZZENS, 

U 

AUTHOR OF “ SPARROWGRASS PAPERS,” ETC. 


WITH AN AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH, AND SEVERAL PAPERS 
NOW FIRST COLLECTED. 


> 


) , > 


NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 

©amlm&ae: a&tberstfce I3ress. 

. 1871 . 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
Frederic S. Cozzens, Jr., 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE i 
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BT 
H. 0 . HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


Autobiographic Sketch xiii 

Sketch by Donald G. Mitchell xxiii 

I. A Talk about Tea *, i 

II. Journey around a Tapioca Pudding. .... 8 

III. The Radiant Dinner-Castor 13 

IV. Chocolate and Cocoa 20 

V. Notables and Potables .24 

VI. A Peep into a Salad Bowl '. 39 

VII. Madame Follet . . . 43 

VIII. Old Phrases 48 

IX. Art 55 

X. Accidental Resemblances 59 

XI. Sitka: Our New Acquisition . . . . . .69 

XII. Phrases and Filberts . 73 

XIII. Does Queen Victoria speak English . . . . 8L 

XIV. The Noses of Eminent Men 102 

XV. Bunkum Museum 106 

XVI. Up the Rhine 109 

XVII. The First Oyster-Eater 114 

XVIII. A Literary Curiosity 122 

XIX. The Race between the Hare and the Hedgehog . 130 

XX. What is the cause of Thunder? . . . . . 136 

XXI. A French Breakfast 140 

XXII. Dainty Hints for Epicurean Smokers .... 143 

XXIII. Was Champagne known to the ancients. . . . 146 

XXIV. German Wines; and a Wine. Cellar .... 165 


XII 


CONTENTS, 


XXV. A Christmas Piece 174 

XXVI. Oxyporian Wines . . . . . . ... 186 

XXVII. My First Drama . . 214 

XXVIII. Wives and Weathercocks ...... 223 

XXIX. Indian Summer 229 

XXX. La Creche ...» 233 

XXXI. Gypsies . . . . . . . . . .238 

XXXII. Private Theatricals . 243 

XXXIII. Trinity Churchyard 255 

XXXIV. Homes for Old Men 260 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 


My paternal ancestors settled, either in the 
latter part of the seventeenth or very early in the 
last century, in Newport, R. I. Leonard Cozzens, 
the first of the name, came over from Devizes, in 
Wiltshire, England. He was admitted a freeman 
of the Colony of Rhode Island, May 3, 1715. He 
was a Quaker, I believe; at least my grandfather 
was one, before he changed his drab coat for a 
soldier’s uniform in the Revolution. He married 
a great granddaughter of Richard Hayward, a 
Moravian, who was a friend of. Count Zinzendorf, 
the founder of Bethlehem, Pa., and used to enter- 
tain the missionary brethren at his house ; he was 
the principal founder of that church at Newport, 
in 1749 3 and was called then Old Father Hay- 
ward, as the chronicles show. His daughter mar- 
ried the son of Governor Taylor, Colonial Gov- 


xiv AUTOBIOGKAPHIC SKETCH. 

ernor of Rhode Island, whose daughter in turn 

married Daniels, a sort of New England 

Robinson Crusoe, who, when a boy,' was ship- 
wrecked> and found floating on a raft on Long 
Island Sound. He was apprenticed to a leather- 
breeches maker, and was celebrated in after days 
for making buckskin breeches, both wind and 
water tight, that all the waves of Long Island 
Sound could not penetrate. His daughter in turn 
married Issachar Cozzens, Senior, my Quaker sol- 
diering grandfather, who, after he doffed his sol- 
dier coat, became, like the rest of his wife’s 
family, a zealous Moravian. 

It is said that the Cozzens family has been 
traced as far back as the time of Henry VIII. ; 
and a Catholic Archbishop by the name of Cosens , 
who, overcome by the persuasions of that amiable 
monarch, became a Protestant, married a lady of 
the Church of England, clapped another z in his 
name, and became a reformer, whose zeal was by 
no means that of the rose-water kind. 

Most of the descendants of Leonard Cozzens 
were seafaring men, and in colonial times, when 


4 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 


XV 


we began to encroach upon the French settle- 
ments in America, were selected by the counci] 
to take charge of the colony artillery, as they 
were familiar with this arm of the service, hav- 
ing learned it on shipboard. Three or four of 
the name were enrolled in this company. Sea- 
Quakers are adepts in serving this kind of war 
tackle, as they are cool in an engagement, always 
put powder enough in the touch-hole, and fire 
low ; hence all marine weapons of any calibre be- 
yond a musket were formerly called Quaker guns ! 

My grandfather had a touch of this fighting 
quality ; so when the War of the Revolution broke 
out, he took up arms on the 1st of April, 1775, 
under Captain Pew of Newport, in the regiment 
of Colonel Spencer of Seconnet, under Gen. Na- 
thaniel Green, Brigadier of the Rhode Island 
troops, and marched from Bristol Ferry to Ja- 
maica Plains, in Massachusetts. A picket-guard, 
of which he was one, was stationed at Dorchester 
Heights the night before the battle of Breed’s 
or Bunker’s Hill. On that never-to-be-forgotten 
morning, by orators, poets, or politicians, the cele- 


XVI 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 


brated 17th of June, 1775, his company rejoined 
the regiment, and marched around the beach to 
reinforce their friends on the hill, whom they saw 
engaged with the enemy. Charlestown was on fire. 
They arrived in the neighborhood of Prospect 
Hill, about a mile from Bunker Hill, in time to 
support the retreating patriots after the brave 
General Warren fell. They then put up breast- 
works, and kept the ground until the retreat was 
covered. He afterwards served as one of the life- 
guard to General Charles Lee. He was in Sulli- 
van’s expedition, when the French fleet under 
D’Estaing, the French Admiral, was to cooperate 
with Generals Sullivan and Lafayette, which un- 
fortunately was frustrated by a premature land 
attack of the Americans. In this attack many 
British subjects lost their lives and liberties ; and 
‘the Americans were obliged to retreat, carrying 
with them many of the British wounded and 
prisoners. He afterwards served as a guide for 
General Washington ; was in the reserve force at 
the capture of General Prescott ; finally was .dis- 
charged from the service, “ sick, fatigued, and 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 


XVII 


worn out,” and, as he expresses it in a memoir 
written at the age of eighty, now before me, 
“ never received one copper of pay for my ser- 
vices.” 

None of my Quaker or Moravian ancestors ever 
were known to joke, and were therefore, no 
doubt, persons of profound wisdom. On the other 
hand, it is said my maternal grandfather broke a 
blood-vessel in a violent fit of laughter, and un- 
happily lost his life in consequence. My ma- 
ternal grandmother was from Carlisle, — a Cum- 
berland woman with a strong Border dialect, and 
knew all the legends, songs, and ghost stories of 
that warlike and romantic region. The little 
humor I possess must be inherited from this 
branch of the house. She had a curious story to 
tell of her husband’s great uncle, Colonel Robert 
Backhouse, who was very wealthy, having de- 
rived his large estates in England from a grant 
of the crown for his military services, — among 
others, that of having pursued the Pretender so 
closely upon one occasion as to snatch the cloak 
from his back. The Backhouse or Backus family 

b 


^viii AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 

(as many spell it) are from Cumberland, England. 
Crest : “ On a snake embowed, its tail nowed, an 
eagle displayed,” — a sort of Mexican dollar crest. 
The motto is the best in the whole range of her- 
aldry, “ Conftdo in Deo” — “I trust in God.” 

My father Frederick and my uncle Issachar were 
chemists by profession, naturalists, geologists, and 
mineralogists. They were members of several 
scientific societies, and the early friends of Drs. 
Mitchell, Dekay, Torrey, Hosack, Francis , ) Audu- 
bon, Charles Bonaparte, and other savans of 
former days. Of all these, Dr. John Torrey, one 
of the most amiable and highly cultivated pro- 
fessors of natural philosophy the country ever 
produced, still survives, and long may he con- 
tinue. My third and youngest uncle used to be 
well known to the visitors at West Point as the 
keeper, both of the old hotel on the Point, and 
afterwards of the one that now bears his name. 
He was an amiable man, with a lively sense of 
humor, and a great favorite with all. 

In my early life I was greatly given to study 
and reading of all kinds. I made collections of 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 


XIX 


minerals, shells, coins, and Indian curiosities ; 
studied anatomy and chemistry before I was fif- 
teen years old ; bored everybody to death with 
scientific experiments, was wonderfully fond of 
theatrical performances, hated history, but had 
a passionate love of poetry. This latter, no 
doubt, was owing to my maternal grandmother’s 
teachings, for she used to croon over, day and 
night, the old Border ballads and legends in verse, 
of which she had an endless store. I also studied 
the science of mechanics; gave up three years to 
the practice of the machine branch of bank-note 
engraving ; worked at the forge, the anvil, and 
the turning-lathe ; became quite a proficient in 
cutting ovals, circles, borders, and combinations 
of bank-note lathe-work ; worked at the transfer 
machine ; touched a little upon the art of print- 
ing, and could set up type, “and pull a sheet,” 
nearly as well as most of the grown men in the 
printing-office. My nights were constantly spent 
in reading ; indeed, as a boy, I took little pleas- 
ure in boyish pursuits, as at a period of riper 
youth I cared little for the amusements of young 


XX 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 


men ; — except the theatre at night, I rarely went 
to any place of amusement. 

At the age of twenty-one I went into the grocery 
and wine business in Yesey Street, and continued 
in it until the early part of this year. I was the 
first one to introduce native wines in New York 
for sale. They were Longworth wines. During 
this period my nights were often spent in writing 
or study. I seized every opportunity to travel, 
and reading was my delight. People often asked 
how I managed to find time to write as much as 
I did ? The secret was this : I always put aside 
business when I went home, and always put aside 
literature when I went to business. I do not 
think any one ever saw me read a book in my 
office, except it might be to look at the title or 
the like. 

The first articles I published were a humorous 
imitation of Spenser in the “ Yankee Doodle,” in 
1847, and in the same year, in the same, the 
“Mythological History of the Heavens.” In the 
same year I published a short religious poem in the 
“ Knickerbocker Magazine,” entitled “Worship.” 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. xxi 

I continued to write for the “ Knickerbocker ” for 
eight years, almost always anonymously. A col- 
lection was made of these writings, and published 
in 1853 by the Appletons. The volume was beau- 
tifully illustrated by Elliott, Darley, Kensett, 
Hicks, and Kossiter. The book was issued under 
the name of “ Prismatics, by Richard Haywarde.” 
It contained many of my poems. Scarcely any 
one knew who was the author. The plates, after 
the first edition, was printed, were destroyed by 
fire, and the book has been for many years out 
of print. Other fugitive pieces followed. Among 
them the first chapter of the “ Sparrowgrass Pa- 
pers ” (1854), which finally grew into a volume : 
published by Derby and Jackson in 1856. In 1854 
I commenced the “ Wine Press,” a monthly paper, 
devoted to the introduction of native wines prin- 
cipally, and continued it for seven years. The 
breaking otit of the war put a period to this pub- 
lication. “ Acadia ; or, a Month with the Blue 
Noses,” was published by Derby and Jackson in 
1859. It is an account of a tour in Nova Scotia. 
Also, in the same year, a “ True History of New 


Xxii AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH. 

Plymouth,” in fifty-two chapters, for the "New 
York Ledger;” by resolution of the Century,” 
a “ Memorial of the late Col. Peter A. Porter,” 
read before the “ Century,” and published by the 
same in 1865; by resolution of the Historical So- 
ciety, a “ Memorial of Fitz Greene Halleck,” Jan- 
uary 6, 1868; published by the society. From 
time to time I also contributed stories, sketches, 
reviews, etc., to various magazines and weeklies, 
and to the daily press. 

I have thus briefly sketched out a review of 
my literary recreations after business hours, — I 
should say fully three quarters of which have 
never been attributed to me, although copied 
by the press and widely circulated. 


F. S. COZZENS. 


[Some of the papers in the present volume are reprinted from the “ Hearth 
and Home ” Journal. The Editor, Mr. Donald G. Mitchell, published in 
that Journal the following sketch which is herewith appended to Mr. 
Cozzens’ Autobiography.] 

Last winter, when, in the early days of “ Hearth 
and Home,” we were casting about for those writ- 
ers who would give a piquancy to the rural talk 
which we proposed to furnish to our readers, who 
should step in, upon a certain gusty day of Decem- 
ber, but the author of the “ Sparrowgrass Papers.” 

It seemed to us a most happy encounter. 

We remembered the smacking humor of those 
papers, and the rollicking way in which he had set 
forth the disagreeable features of a citizen’s first 
experience with country life, and how thousands 
of readers had shared with him in the uproarious 
fun he had conjured out of his every-day adven- 
tures at his country place in Yonkers. 

If now — thought we — he could only make a 
sequel to that engaging story, by giving us a good, 
farcical account of some would-be scientific farmer, 
who should spend thousands for nostrums and 


Xxiv SKETCH BY DONALD Q. MITCHELL. 

vaulted unanure pits, and contrast in his whimsical 
way the picture of such extravagance (without 
practical direction) with the quiet, steady-paced 
method of some old-fashioned farmer who goes 
about his business at sunrise, and fills up his 
pockets with little driblets of dimes, while the 
golden ooze is slipping out of the great neighbor’s 
purse, — what a happy thing it would be! We 
named the matter to him ; we knew by the 
twinkle in his eye that he saw the comical aspects 
of it ; we knew he could rouse a great, uproarious 
laugh again ; we believed that it might be made 
to count against idle extravagances, and to count 
in favor of good practice. 

“ But, for all that,” said he, “ it is necessary to 
know pretty thoroughly what good practice is; 
and you know,” continued he, with another rare 
twinkle, “ my experience in farming has not been 
very profound. If it were all wine-growing and 
grape-pressing, — h la bonne heure ! ” 

And then there was a slant off upon some com- 
ical story, — of which sqrt he was full, and which 
he told with the rarest of humor and gusto. 


SKETCH BY DONALD G. MITCHELL. 


XXV 


Then, again, Mr. Cozzens did not want to go 
back a second time upon tramped ground. Spar- 
rowgrass had had his say, and was put to bed ; 
the imitations of his conceits and quips had dis- 
gusted him with the thought of any return to 
that manner. 

So this thought was abandoned ; but he brought 
us a charming little account of the baby hos- 
pital in Paris, La Cr&che, which was straightway 
copied into half the papers of the country. This 
was followed by a capital bit of humor on “ Wives 
and Weathercocks;’' after which he gave our 
readers a harrowing story of the abuses of prison 
discipline, entering into this discussion with a 
zeal and warmth that were most honorable to him. 

Subsequently, he gave us two bits of his Eng- 
lish experience ; and now he closes up his series 
of papers with a pleasant r historic notice of Trin- 
ity Church-yard. 

This latter was just in type when the news 
came to our office — like a sudden shadow — that 
he too — or all that was mortal of him, — was 
ready for his last sleep in some city church-yard ! 


XXVI 


SKETCH BY DONALD G. MITCHELL. 


For some months he had counted himself an in- 
valid ; yet it seemed to us, when we saw him last, 
with the old smile and the rare twinkle of the eye, 
that he. might well weather the winter, and three 
or four more to come ; but there was an ailment 
of the heart, of which he knew nothing till toward 
the last ; and this carried him away at a blow 
upon the morning of the 23d of December last. 

A friend writes : — 

“ Mr. Cozzens has suffered for some time from 
asthmatic attacks. At the date of his death, he 
was on a visit at the house of a relative in Brook- 
lyn. He was seated with his wife, when the 
shadow fell upon him. 

“ ‘ Open the door ! ’ he said. 

“ His wife endeavored to do so, but he preceded 
her, and turning the knob, fell to the floor, ex- 
claiming, ‘ 0 my ! 0 my ! ’ and the genial heart 
was stilled. I should like to lay a wreath upon 
his grave.” 

He had been actively engaged in business pur- 
suits through the greater part of his life, and liter- 
ature was a by-play with him. The “ Wine Press ” 


SKETCH BY DONALD G. MITCHELL. xxvii 

was a small monthly which he issued for a time in 
the interest of the business in which he was en- 
gaged. It contained much valuable statistical mat- 
ter in regard to vineyards and wine-making, which 
was enlivened by his witty comments. A small 
volume of poems by “ Richard Hay warde ” (a pseu- 
donym of Mr. Cozzens), showed great facility in 
versification, and much of true poetic feeling. But 
he has been best known by the “ Sparrowgrass 
Papers,” already alluded to, whose charming rural 
pictures and abounding drollery commended them 
to a very large circle of readers. 

It will be read again, now that his gibes and 
quips are silenced forever, with a tender interest. 


/ 



THE SAYINGS OF DR. BUSHWHACKER, 


AND OTHER LEARNED MEN. 


I. 



a Etout Cea. 

^i)iR,” said our learned friend, Dr. Bushwhacker, 
“we are indebted to China for. the four prin- 
cipal blessings we enjoy. Tea came from China, the 
compass came from China, printing came from China, 
and gunpowder came from China — thank God ! China, 
sir, is an old country, a very old country. There is one 
word, sir, we got from China, that* is oftener in the 
mouths of American people than any other word in the 
language. It is cash, sir, cash ! That we derive, from 
the Chinese. It is the name, sir, of the small brass coin 
they use, the coin with a square hole in the middle. And 
then look at our Franklin ; he drew the lightning from 

1 


2 


A TALK ABOUT TEA. 


the skies with his kite ; but who invented the kite, sir ? 
The long-tailed Chinaman, sir. Eranklin had no inven- 
tion ; he never would have invented a kite or a printing- 
press. But he could use them, sir, to the best possible 
advantage, sir; he had no genius, sir, but he had remark- 
able talent and industry. Then, sir, we get our umbrella 
from China; the first man that carried an umbrella, in 
London, in Queen Anne’s reign, was followed by a mob. 
That is only one hundred and fifty years ago. We get 
the art of making porcelain from China. Our ladies must 
thank the Celestials for their tea-pots. Queen Elizabeth 
never saw a tea-pot in her life. In 1664, the East India 
Company bought two pounds two ounces of tea as a pres- 
ent for his majesty, King Charles the Second. In 1667, 
they imported one hundred pounds of tea. Then, sir, 
rose the reign of scandal — Queen Scandal, sir ! Then, 
sir, rose the intolerable race of waspish spinsters who 
sting reputations and defame humanity over their dys- 
peptic cups. Then, sir, the astringent principle of the 
herb was communicated to the heart, and domestic troubles 
were brewed and fomented over the tea-table. Then, sir, 
the age of chivalry was over, and women grew acrid and 
bitter; then, sir, the first temperance society was founded, 
and high duties were laid upon wines, and in consequence 
they distilled whiskey instead, which made matters a great 
deal better, of course ; and all the abominations, all the 
difficulties of domestic life, all the curses of living in a 
country village ; the intolerant canvassing of character- 


A TALK ABOUT TEA. 


3 


reputation, piety ; the nasty, mean, prying spirit; the 
uncharitable, defamatory, gossiping, tale bearing, whis- 
pering, unwomanly, unchristianlike behavior of those 
who set themselves up for patterns over their vile 
decoctions, sir, arose with the introduction of tea. 
Yes, sir ; when the wine-cup gave place to the tea-cup, 
then the devil, sir, reached his culminating point. The 
curiosity of Eve was bad enough ; but, sir, when Eve’s 
curiosity becomes sharpened by turgid tonics, and scan- 
dal is added to inquisitiveness, and inuendo supplies the 
place of truth, and an imperfect digestion is the pilot 
instead of charity ; then, sir, we must expect to see hu- 
man nature vilified, and levity condemned, and good 
fellowship condemned, and, all good men, from Wash- 
ington down, damned by Miss Tittle, and Miss Tattle, 
and the Widow Blackleg, and the whole host of tea- 
drinking conspirators against social enjoyment.” Here 
Dr. Bushwhacker grew purple with eloquence and indig- 
nation. We ventured to remark that he had spoken of 
tea “as a blessing” at first. “Yes, sir,” responded Dr. 
Bushwhacker, shaking his bushy head, “that reminds 
one of Doctor Pangloss. Yes, sir, it is a blessing, but 
like all other blessings it must be used temperately , or 
else it is a curse! China, sir,” continued the Doctor, 
dropping the oratorical, and taking up the historical, 
“China, sir, knows nothing of perspective, but she is 
great in pigments. Indian ink, sir, is Chinese, so are ver- 
milion and indigo ; the malleable properties of gold, sir, 


4 


A TALK ABOUT TEA. 


were first discovered by this extraordinary people; we 
must thank them for our gold leaf. Gold is not a pigment, 
but roast pig is, and Charles Lamb says the origin of 
roast pig is Chinese ; the beautiful fabric we call silk, 
sir, came from the Flowery Nation, so did embroidery, 
so did the game of chess, so did fans. In fact, sir, it is 
difficult to say what we have not derived from the Chi- 
nese. Cotton, sir, is our great staple, but they wove and 
spun long staple and short staple, yellow cotton and white 
cotton before Columbus sailed out of the port of Palos in 
the Santa Maria.” 

“But, Doctor, we want a word with you about tea. A 
little information, if you please.” 

The Doctor is one of our old Knickerbockers. His 
big, bushy head is as familiar as the City Hall. He be- 
longs to the ‘ ■ God bless you my dear young friend ” 
school ! He is as full of knowledge as an egg is full of 
meat. He knows more about China than the Emperor 
of the celestial people. 

“ Tea, my young friend, is a plant that grows in 
China, Japan, and other parts of the world. There are 
two varieties, Thea nigra and Thea viridis — black tea 
and green tea. The same plant, sir, produces both kinds. 
Green tea is made by one kind of manipulation, black 
tea by another. That is all, sir. The shrub is raised 
from seeds like hazel nuts, planted in nurseries ; it is set 
out when about afoot high; lives for fifteen or twenty 
years, grows sometimes as tall as General Scott and 


A TALK ABOUT TEA. 


5 


sometimes as small as Bill Seward. It is picked four 
times a year. The first picking is the best, when the 
leaves are covered with a whitish down. This is in April, 
the next is in May, the next in July, the last in August. 
One Chinaman can pick about thirteen pounds of leaves 
per day, for which he will receive sixty cash , or six cents. 
The green leaves are spread out on bamboo frames to dry 
a little, the yellow and old defective leaves are picked out, 
then they take up a handful of the leaves, cast them into a 
heated pan, get them warmed up, and squeeze out the 
superfluous juice ; this juice contains an acrid oil, so acrid 
as to irritate the hands of the workman. Good God ! 
think of that, sir, what stuff for the stomach. Then they 
dry them slightly in the sun, then every separate leaf is 
rolled up into a little ball like a shot, then they throw these 
green tea shot' into a pan slightly heated, stirring them 
up so as to warm every part alike ; then they cool the 
tea, and the shot are picked out one by one, the best for 
the first or finest chop. Every little ball picked over by 
hand. Then it is packed, sir* The young leaves make 
the ‘Young Hyson,’ the older and stronger leaves the 
‘ Hyson,’ the refuse goes by the name of ‘ Hyson Skin,’ 
the ‘Gunpowder’ and ‘Imperial’ are teas rolled more care- 
fully in rounder balls than the others. Most of these teas 
are colored for our market — colored, sir, with a mixture 
of Prussian blue and gypsum ; no wonder John China- 
man calls us outside barbarians, when he knows we drink 
half a pound of gypsum and Prussian blue with every 


6 


A TALK ABOUT TEA. 


hundred pounds of green tea, and this tea is made to 
order ! Does honest John ever drink such tea ? No, sir, 
he knows better than that if he does wear a tail.” 

“And black tea, you say, is from the same plant, 
Doctor f 7 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Robert Fortune brought specimens of 
the Thea nigra from the Bohea mountains and compared 
them with the Thea viridis , and the plants were identical. 
The black tea, sir, is prepared in a different manner from 
the other. The leaves are allowed to lie spread out on 
the bamboo trays for a considerable time ; then they are 
thrown up into the air by the workman, tossed about, 
beat, patted, until they become soft or flaccid, then tossed 
in heaps, allowed to lie until they begin to change color, 
then they are tossed in a tea-pan, roasted over a hotter 
fire, rolled, shaken out, exposed to the air again, turned 
over, partially dried, put in the pan a second time for five 
minutes or so, then rolled, tossed over, and tumbled 
again, then put into a sieve, put over the fire again, rolled 
about, »put over again, three or four times, then placed in 
a basket, thickly packed together ; the Chinaman makes 
a hole through the mass of leaves with his hand to give 
vent to the smoke and steam ; then over the fire they go, 
and remain there until they are perfectly dry — in fact, 
sir, until the fire dies out. Then picked, packed, and as- 
sorted for the market. Now, sir, here is the difference 
between black tea and green tea, the latter retains all its 
acrid properties, it produces nervous irritability, sleep- 


A TALK ABOUT TEA. 


7 


lessness, sir ; why, if you take a pinch of green tea and 

chew it, sir, you can sit and listen to Dr. ’s sermon 

and keep wide awake sir — a thing impossible to do under 
any other circumstances. But black tea has much of this 
oil dried out of it, and therefore it is less injurious than 
the other; less injurious, I say, — not harmless by any 
means. Do you ever travel in the country? Well, sir, 
there you will see the ravages of green tea, Prussian blue, 
and gypsum among the fairest portion of creation — 
women ! There, sir, you will see pinched-up, penurious, 
prying faces — faces made up of a complication of tine 
lines, as if all human sympathies had got into a tangle ; 
necks all wrinkles ; fingers, a beautiful exhibition of 
bones, ligaments, and tendons ; eyes, sharp, restless, in- 
quisitive ; shoulders, drooping ; bust, nowhere ; viscera, 
collapsed, and the muscular system, or the form divine 
generally, in a state of dubiety ; yes, sir, and all this 
comes from the constant use of 4 Thea viridisj sir, green 
tea, sir. Our forefathers, sir, threw the tea overboard in 
Boston harbor ; if people knew what we of the faculty 
know, sir, they would do the same thing now, sir, with 
every chop that comes from the celestial empire.” 


II. 


Jaurneg araunir a Sapioca ^uirtrtng. 

» r. Bushwhacker folded his napkin, drew it 
through the silver ring, laid it on the table, 
folded his arms, leaned back in his chair, by which we 
knew there was something at work in his knowledge-box. 
“My dear Madam,” said he, with a Metamora shake ot 
the head, “there are a great many things ' to be said 
about that pudding.” 

Now, such a remark at a season of the year when eggs 
are five for a shilling, and not always fresh at that, is 
enough to discomfort any body. The Doctor perceived 
it at once, and instantly added, “ In a geographical point 
of view, there are many things to be said about that 
pudding. My dear madam,” he continued, “take tapi- 
oca itself ; what is it, and where does it come from ?” 

Our eldest boy, just emerging from chickenhood, an- 
swered, “ 85 Chambers street, two doors below the Irv- 
ing House.” , 

“ True, my dear young friend,” responded the Doctor, 
with a friendly pat on the head ; “ true, but that is not 
what I mean. Where,” he repeated, with a questioning 
look through his spectacles, and a Bushwhackian nod, 
“ does tapioca come from ?” . 


8 


JOURNEY AROUND A TAPIOCA PUDDING. 


9 


“Rio de Janeiro and Para !” 

“Yes, sir ; from Rio de Janeiro in the southern, and 
Para in the northern part of the Brazils, do we get our 
tapioca ; from the roots of a plant called the Mandioca, 
botanically, the Jatrojpha manihot , or, as they say, the 
Cassava. The roots are long and round, like a sweet 
potato ; generally a foot or more in length. Every joint 
of the plant will produce its roots like the cuttings of a 
grape-vine. The tubers are dug up from the ground, 
peeled, scraped, or grated, then put in long sacks of flex- 
ible rattan ; sacks, six feet long or more, and at the bot- 
tom of the sack they suspend a large stone, by which the 
flexible sides are contracted, and then out pours the cas- 
sava-juice into a pan placed below to receive it. This juice 
is poisonous, sir, highly poisonous, and very volatile. 
Then, my dear madam, it is macerated in water, and the 
residuum, after the volatile part, the poison, is evaporated, 
is the innocuous farina, which looks like small crumbs of 
bread, and which we call tapioca. • The best kind of tap- 
ioca comes from Rio, which -is, I believe, about five thou- 
sand five hundred miles from New York ; so we must put 
down that as a little more than one fifth of our voyage 
around the pudding.” 

This made our eldest open his eyes. 

“Eggs and milk,” continued Dr. Bushwhacker, “are 
home productions; but sugar, refined sugar, is made 
partly of the moist and sweet yellow sugar of Louisiana, 
partly of the hard and dry sugar of the West Indies. I 


10 JOURNEY AROUND A TAPIOCA PUDDING. 


will not go into the process of refining sugar now, but I 
may observe here, that the sugar we get from Louisiana, 
if refined and made into a loaf, would be quite soft, with 
large loose crystals, while the Havana sugar, subjected to 
the same treatment, would make a white cone almost as 
compact and hard as granite. But we have made a trip 
to the Antilles for our sugar, and so you may add fifteen 
hundred miles more for the saccharine.” 

“That is equal to nearly one-third of the circumfer- 
ence of the pudding we live upon, Doctor.” 

“Vanilla,” continued the Doctor, “with which this 
pudding is so delightfully flavored, is the bean of a vine 
that grows wild in the multitudinous forests of Venezuela, 
Hew Granada, Guiana, and, in fact, throughout South 
America. The long pod, which looks like the scabbard 
of a sword, suggested the name to the Spaniards ; vagna, 
meaning scabbard, from which comes the diminutive, 
vanilla, or little scabbard — appropriate enough, as every 
one will allow. These beans, which are worth here from 
six to twenty dollars a pound, could be as easily cultivat- 
ed as hops in that climate ; but the indolence of the peo- 
ple is so great, that not one Venezuelian has been found 
with sufficient enterprise to set out one acre of vanilla, 
which would yield him a small fortune every year. Ho, 
sir. The poor peons, or peasants, raise their garabanzas 
for daily use, but beyond that they never look. They 
plant their crops in the footsteps of their ancestors, and, 
if it had not been for their ancestors, they would proba- 


JOURNEY AROUND A TAPIOCA PUDDING. 11 


bly have browsed on the wild grass of the llanos or plains. 
Ah ! there are a great many sncli bobs hanging at the tail 
of some ancestral kite, even in this great city, my dear, 
learned friend.” 

“ True, Doctor, yon are right there.” 

“ Well, sir, the vanilla is gathered from the wild vines 
in the woods. Off goes the hidalgo, proud of his noble 
ancestry, and toils home imder a back-load of the refuse 
beans from the trees, after the red monkey has had his 
pick of the best. A few reals pay him for the day’s 
work, and then, hey for the cock-pit! There, Signor 
Olfogie meets the Marquis de Shinplaster, or the Padre 
Corcoroclii, and of course gets whistled out of his earn- 
ings with the first click of the gaffs. Then back he goes 
to his miserable hammock, and so eftds his year’s labor. 
That, sir, is the history of the flavoring, and you will 
have to allow a stretch across the Caribbean, say twenty- 
five hundred miles, for the vanilla.” 

“We are getting pretty well around, Doctor.” 

“Then we have sauce, here, wine-sauce; Teneriffe, I 
should say, by the flavor. 

* from beneath the cliff 

Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, 

And ripened in the blink 
Of India’s sun.’ 

We must take four thousand miles at least for the wine, 
my learned friend, and say nothing of the rest of the 


sauce. 


12 JOURNEY AROUND A TAPIOCA PUDDING. 

“Except the nutmeg, Doctor.” 

“ Thank you, my dear young friend, thank you. The 
nutmeg ! To the Spice Islands, in the Indian Ocean we 
are indebted for our nutmegs. Our old original Knicker- 
bockers, the web-footed Dutchmen, have the monopoly 
of this trade. Every nutmeg has paid toll at the Hague 
before it yields its aroma to our graters. The Spice 
Islands ! The almost fabulous Moluccas, where neither 
corn nor rice will grow ; where the only quadrupeds they 
have are the odorous goats that breathe the fragrant air, 
and the musky crocodiles that bathe in the high-seasoned 
waters. The Moluccas, 

‘ the isles 

Of Temate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 
Their spicy drugs.’ 

There, sir! Milton, sir. From Ternate and Tidore, and 
the rest of that marvelous cluster of islands, we get our 
nutmegs, our mace, and our cloves. Add twelve thou- 
sand miles at least to the circumference of the pudding 
for the nutmeg.” 

“This is getting to be a pretty large pudding, Doctor.” 

“Yes, sir. We have traveled already twenty-five 
thousand five hundred miles around it, and now let u& 
re-circumnavigate and come back by the way of Mexico, 
so that we can get a silver spoon, and penetrate into 
the interior.” 


III. 


®|)C &talriant ©tuner (Castor. 

E begin to think there is wisdom in Dr. Bush- 
whacker. “There are other things to study 
geography from, besides maps and globes,” is one of his 
favorite maxims. We begin to believe it. “ Observe, 
my learned friend,” said he, “how the reflected sunshine 
from those cut bottles in the castor-stand, throws long 
plumes of light in every direction across the white dam- 
ask.” We leaned forward, and saw the phenomenon 
pointed out by the index-finger of the Doctor, and as we 
knew something was coming from his pericranics, kept 
silent of course. “ Well,” said he, inflating his bps until 
his face looked like that of a cast-iron caryatid, “well, 
my dear friend, every pencil of light there is a point of the 
compass, and the contents of that castor come from places 
as various ds those diverging rays indicate. The mustard 
is from England, the vinegar from France, China fur- 
nishes the soy, Italy the oil, we have to ask the West 
Indies to contribute the red pepper, and the East Indies 
to supply the black pepper.” We ventured to remark 
that those facts we were not ignorant of, by any means. 
“True, my dear learned friend,” said the Doctor, with a 
sort of snort; “but God bless me! if one-half of the 

• 13 



14 


THE RADIANT DINNER CASTOR. 


people in this c'ity know it.” “Mustard,” continued 
Doctor Bushwhacker, not at all discomfited, “comes 
from Durham, in the north of England — that is, the best 
quality. The other productions of this county do not 
amount to much, nor is it celebrated for any thing, 
except that here the Queen Philippa, wife of King 
Edward the Third, captured David Bruce, King of Scots, 
for which reason no Scotchman can eat Durham mustard 
except with tears in his eyes. We get our grindstones 
from this English county, my learned friend ; and when 
you sharpen your knife or your appetite hereafter, it will 
remind you of Durham. That long pencil of light from 
the next bottle points to France, where they make the 
best wine-vinegar we get. Just observe the difference 
between that sturdy, pot-bellied mustard-bottle, which 
represents John Bull, and this slender, sharp, vinegar- 
cruet, which represents Johnny Crapeau; there is a 
national distinction, sir, in cruets as well as men. The 
quantity of vinegar made in France is very great. The 
best comes from Bordeaux ; sometimes it is so strong that 
the Frenchmen c$ll it ‘ vinaigre des trois dents? or vin- 
egar with three teeth ; but the finest flavored vinegar I 
ever met with came from Portugal, and for a salad, noth- 
ing could equal its delicate aroma. Well, sir, then there 
is the red-pepper, the Cayenne ; that I presume is from 
Jamaica?” 

We assented. 

“ The best and strongest kind is made partly of the bird 
pepper, and partly of the long-pod pepper of the West 


THE RADIANT DINNER CASTOR. 15 

# 

Indies. This is a very healthy condiment, sir; in the 
tropics it is indispensable. There is a maxim there, sir, 
that people who eat Cayenne pepper will live for ever. 
Like variety, it is the spice of life, sir, at the equator. 
Our own gardens, sir, furnish capsicum, and in fact it 
grows in all parts of the world ; but that from the West 
Indies is esteemed to be the best, and I think with jus- 
tice. Now, sir, the next pencil of light is reflected from 
the Yellow Sea !” 

“The soy, Doctor?” 

“The so y,- my learned friend; the best fish-sauce on 
the face of the globe. The soy, sir, or ‘soya,’ as the 
J apanese call it, is a species of bean, which would grow 
in this country as well as any other Chinese plant. Few 
Chinamen eat anything without a mixture of this bean- 
jelly in some shape or other. They scald and peel the 
beans, then add an equal quantity of wheat or barley, 
then the mess is allowed to ferment, then they add a little 
salt, sometimes tumeric for color, water is added also, in 
the proportion of three to one of the mass, and after a 
few months’ repose the soy is pressed, strained, and ready 
for market. That, sir, is the history of that cruet, and 
now we will pass on to the black pepper.” 

“A glass of wine first, Doctor, if you please.” 

“Thank you, my dear friend; bless me, how dry I 
am.” 

“Black pepper, Piper nigrum, is the berry of a vine 
that grows in Sumatra and Ceylon, but our principal 


16 


THE RADIANT DINNER CASTOR. 


supply of this commonest of condiments comes from the 
Island of Java; and we have to pay our web-footed 
Knickerbockers, across the water, a little toll upon that, 
as we do upon many other things of daily consumption. 
The pepper-vine is a very beautiful plant, with large, 
oval, polished leaves and showy white flowers, that w T ould 
look beautiful if wound around the head of a bride.” 

“No doubt, Doctor, but I think the less pepper about 
a bride the better.” 

“Good, my learned friend; you are right; if I were 
to get married again, sir,” continued the Doctor in a very 
hearty manner, “T should be a little afraid of the contact 
of piper nigrum” 

“What is white pepper, Doctor?” 

“White pepper is the same, sir, as black pepper, only 
it is decorticated, that is, the black husk has been rubbed 
off. Now, sir, there is not much else interesting about 
pepper, except that the best probably comes from the 
kingdom of Bantam ; and the quantity, formerly export- 
ed from the seaport of that name in the Island of Java, 
amounted, sir, to ten thousand tons annually; a good 
seasonable supply of seasoning for the world, sir. Well, 
sir, we are also indebted to Bantam for a very small breed 
of fowls, the peculiar use of which no philosopher has as 
yet been able to determine. Now, sir, we have finished 
the castor, I think ?” 

“There is one point of light, Doctor, that indicates 
Italy ; what of the oil ?” 


THE RADIANT DINNER CASTOR. 


17 


“Ah! Lucca and Parma! Indeed, sir, I may say, 
France, Spain, and Italy ! 

“ * Three kingdoms claim its birth ; 

Both hemispheres proclaim its worth.’ 

The olive, sir. I remember something from my school* 
boy days about that. It is from Pliny’s History of Na- 
ture, sir. (Liber XV.) The olive in the western world 
was the companion, sir, as well as the symbol of peace. 
Two centuries after the foundation of Rome, both Italy 
and Africa were strangers to this useful plant. It was 
naturalized in those countries, sir, and at length. carried 
into the heart of Spain and Gaul. The timid errors of 
the ancients, that it required a certain degree of heat, 
and could not flourish in the neighborhood of the sea, 
were insensibly exploded by industry and experience. 
There, sir ! But the timid errors of the ancients are not 
more , surprising than the timid errors of the moderns. 
The olive tree should be as common here as it is in the 
old world, especially as it is the emblem of peace. My 
old friend, Dominick Lynch, sir, the wine-merchant, the 
only great wine-merchant we ever had, sir, imported the 
finest oil, sir, from Lucca, known even to this day as 
4 Lynch’s Oil.’ He it was who made Chateau Margaux 
and the Italian opera, popular, sir, in this great metrop- 
olis. Poor Dom! Well, sir, I suppose you know all 
about the olive tree ?” 

“ On the contrary, very little.” 

2 


18 


THE RADIANT DINNER CASTOR. 


“ Well, the olive is as easily propagated as the willow. 
You must go boldly to work, however, and cut oft’ a Ijmb 
of the tree, as big as my arm, and plant that. No twig, 
sir. In three years it will bear ; in five years it will have 
a full crop ; in ten years it will be in perfection. If you 
plant a slip, it will take twenty years or more to mature. 
Its mode of bearing is biennial, and you can prune it 
every other year, and plant the cuttings. Longwortli 
ought to take up the olive, sir; and he might have a 
wreath to put around his head, as he deserves. Well, 
my learned friend, when the olive is ripe — the fruit I 
mean— rit is of a deep violet color. Those we get in bot- 
tles are plucked while they are green. The plums are 
put between two circular mill-stones — the upper one con- 
vex, the lower one concave; the fruit is thus crushed, 
and afterward put into a press, and the oil is extracted by 
means of a. powerful lever. That is all, sir ; an oil-press 
is not a very handsome article to look at; but in the 
South, I think it would be serviceable at least ; but- 
ter there is not always of the best quality in summer ; and 
olive oil would be a delightful substitute.* 

“What of French and Spanish oil, Doctor?” 

“ Spanish oil is very good, sir. So is French ; we get 
little of the Italian oil now. The oil of Aix, near Mar- 
seilles, is of superior quality ; but that does not come to 
our market. Lately I have used the oil of Bordeaux in 
place of the Italian; it is very fine. But speaking of 
olive oil, let me tell you an anecdote of my friend Godey, 


THE RADIANT DINNER CASTOR. 


19 


of Philadelphia, of the ladies' Book, sir, the best heart- 
ed man of that name in the world. Well, sir, Godey had 
a new servant-girl ; I never knew any body that didn’t 
have a new servant-girl ! Well, sir, Godey had a dinner- 
party in early spring, when lettuce is a rarity, and of 
course he had lettuce. He is a capital hand at a salad, 
and so he dressed it. The guests ate it ; and — sir — well, 
sir, I must hasten to the end of the story. Said Godey 
to the new girl next morning: ‘What has become of that 
bottle of castor-oil I gave you to put away yesterday 
morning?’ ‘ Sure,’ said she, i you said it was castor-oil , 
and I put it in the castor .’ ‘Well,’ said Godey, ‘1 
thought so.’ ” 


IV. 

©isolate anti ©ncoa. 



ow is it, Doctor,” said we over our matutinal, 
but unusual cup of chocolate, “ how is it that 
drinking chocolate produces a headache with many per- 
sons who can eat chocolate bon-bons by the quantity with 
impunity*! ” ‘ 4 My learned friend, ” .said Dr. Bushwhacker, 

rousing up and shaking his mane, 44 1 will tell you all 
about it. Chocolate, or. as the great Linnaeus used to call 
it, ‘Theo broma ! — food for the gods — is a most peculiar 
preparation. It is made of the berries of the cacao, sir, 
a small tree indigenous to South America. We misname 
the berries cocoa, because the jicaras , or native cups in 
which -the cocoa was drunk by the Mexicans, were made 
of the small end of the cocoa-nut. The tree, sir, bears 
a beautiful rose-colored blossom, and that produces a long 
pod, resembling our cucumber ; in that, pod we find the 
cacao imbedded — a multitude of oval pits, about the size 
of shelled almonds, and surrounded with a white acid 
'pulp. Now, sir, this pulp produces a very refreshing 
drink in the tropics, called vino cacao , or cacao-wine, 
which is more esteemed there than the beverage we make 
from the berries.” 

“But, Doctor, how about the headache?” 

20 


CHOCOLATE AND COCOA. 


21 


“ Sir,” said the Doctor, “I am getting to that. If you 
take a pair of compasses, and put the right leg in the 
middle of the Madeira River, one of the tributaries of the 
majestic Amazon, and extend the other to Caracas, then 
sweep if round in a circle, you will embrace within that 
the native land of the cacao. It grows, sir, from Vene- 
zuela to the Pampas of Buenos Ayres, an extent of coun- 
try more beautiful, vaster, and of less importance than 
any other territory on the habitable globe. Well, sir, 
this plant, which, from its oleaginous properties, seems 
suitable to supply the want of animal food, is expressly 
adapted for that country. ‘ He who has drank one cup,’ 
says Fernando Cortez, ‘can travel a whole day without 
any other food.’ Now, sir, we must not believe this al- 
together ; but the value of this liquid nutriment for those 
who have to cross the Llanos of the north, or the Pam- 
pas of the south, is not to be lightly estimated.” 

“But the headache, Doctor?” 

“Chocolate,” continued Dr. Bushwhacker, “is made 
of the cacao berries, slightly roasted and triturated in # 
water ; a certain degree of heat is necessary in its prepa- 
ration. The best we have comes from Caracas ; it is of a 
light brown color, and quite expensive, sometimes two or 
three dollars a pound. The ordinary chocolate we import 
from France, Spain, Germany, and the West Indies, is 
a mixture of cacao with sago, rice, sugar, and other arti- 
cles, flavored with cinnamon or vanilla, the latter being 
deleterious on account of its effects upon the nervous sys- 


22 


CHOCOLATE AND COCOA. 


tem. How much Caracas cacao is used here I do not 
know, hut I presume Para furnishes our manufacturers 
with their principal supplies. The quantity of cacao that 
comes here in its native state is very great, compared 
with the manufactured article, the chocolate ; we import 
one hundred and seventy thousand dollars’ worth of the 
one, against a little over^two thousand dollars’ worth of 
the other.” 

“ But the headache, Doctor ? What is the reason that 
liquid clioco 

“ Sir,” replied Dr. Bushwhacker, drawing himself up 
with cast-iron dignity, “ if I interrupted you as often as 
you interrupt me, that question would be answered some 
time after the allies take Sebastopol. Chocolate was 
introduced into Spain by Fernando Cortez ; to this day 
it is in Spain what coflee is to France, or tea to England, 
the pet beverage of all classes of people who can afford 
it. It was introduced into England simultaneously with 
coffee, just before the restoration of King Charj.es the 
Second. Then it was prepared for the table by merely 
* mixing it with hot water, no milk, sir. Pope alludes to 
it in the Rape of the Lock. 4 Whatever spirit, careless * 
of his charge, his post neglects,’ 

“ * In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow, 

And tremble at the sea that froths below.’ 

The Spaniards, sir, do not use milk in preparing it, nor 
do the South Americans. By the way, thirty years ago, 


CHOCOLATE AND COCOA. 


23 


my friend, Col. Duane, of Philadelphia, published a hook 
on Colombia, which is highly interesting ; so, too, you will 
find Zea’s Colombia of the same period ; Pazo’s Letters 
to Henry Clay, written in 1819 ; Depon’s Voyages in the 
early part of this century ; and the still more interesting 
• voyages of Don George Juan, and Don Antonio de Ulloa; 
in 1735. Then there is Hippisly’s Narrative, Brown’s 
Itinerary, and -many other hooks, my learned friend, that 
will tell you about the cacao. In that country, where 
meat is not abundant, a cup of chocolate supplies the 
necessary nutriment, and a breakfast of cacao and fruit, 
sir, is satisfying and delicious. Arbuthnot says it is rich, 
alimentary, and anodyne.” 

“But the headache, Doctor?” 

“ In Spain,” continued the Doctor, it is served up in 
beautiful cups of fillagree work, made in the shape of 
.tulips or lilies, with leaves that fold over the top by 
touching a spring. These leaves are to protect it from 
the flies. The ladies are so fond of it that they have it 
sent after them to church ; this the bishops interdicted 
for a while, but that only made it more desirable.” 

“ But what, are its peculiar properties, Doctor ?” 

“Tea, my learned ‘friend,” replied the Doctor, curtly, 
“ inspires scandal and sentiment ; coffee excites the im- 
agination ; but chocolate, sir, is aphrodisiac !” 


V. 


Kotaftles ant* ^JotaWes. 

y dear learned friend,” said Dr. Bush- 
whacker, putting down his half-empty 
goblet of claret, “ that is the finest wine I ever tasted. 
A man, sir, should go down on his knees when he drinks 
such wine ; it inspires me, sir, with humility and devo- 
tion. Six months’ retirement and study, with a liberal 
allowance of claret like that, would induce an epic poem, 
sir!” 

“ Retirement and study would do much, Doctor ; but 
as for the claret I have my doubts. France, with all her 
clarets, has no great poet.” • 

“ Sir,” replied Doctor Bushwhacker, “ France has Cor- 
neille, Racine, Moliere ! ” 

“ True.” 

4 4 La Fontaine, Voltaire, and Boileau.” 

44 True.” 

. “ Jongleurs,- Troubadours, Trouveres, without number, 

sir!” 

44 1 know it.” 

44 Beranger, Lamartine, Victor Hugo, and — what is the 
name of that barber-poet ? — ah ! Jasmin.” 

i 



24 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


25 


“ Yes, Jasmin.” 

“ And,” continued tlie Doctor, “ there was Du Bartas, 
sir, who wrote the ‘Divine Week’ and the ‘Battle of 
Ivry,’ sir !” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Claret,” said Dr. Bushwhacker significantly. 

“ Great thing for wit, Doctor !” 

“ My dear learned friend, it is,” replied the Doctor, 
emptying his goblet, and giving a triumphant snort, “and 
for poetry, too.” 

“ How is it, then, that with all her great poets, France 
has not produced a great poem ?” 

“ Sir,” asked Dr. Bushwhacker, “ did you ever read 
the CEdipe of Corneille ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Then I would advise you to read it, sir.” 

“My learned friend,” continued Dr. Bushwhacker, 
after an impressive pause, “ I have a theory that certain 
wines produce certain effects upon the mind. I believe, 
sir, that if I were to come in upon a dinner-party about 
the time when conversation had become luminous and 
choral, I could easily tell whether Claret, Champagne, 
Sherry, Madeira, Burgundy, Port, or Punch, had been 
the prevailing potable. Yes, sir, and no doubt a skillful 
critic could determine, after a careful analysis of the sub- 
ject, upon what drink, sir, a poem was written. Yes, sir, 
or tell a claret couplet from a sherry couplet, sir, or dis- 




26 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


tinguish the flavor of Port in one stanza, and Madeira in 
another, from internal evidence, sir.” 

“ Suppose, Doctor, the poet were a water-drinker ?” 

“ My dear learned friend,” replied the Doctor vehe- 
mently, “ if you can find in the whole range of literature 
— and I will go farther than that — if you can find in the 
whole range of intelligence, either poet, statesman, orator, 
artist, hero, or divine, who was a water-drinker, and worth 
one (excuse me) curse ! then, sir, I will renounce the 
practice of my profession, and occupy my time in a water- 
cure establishment. On the contrary, look at the illus- 
trious writers of all ages and nations, sir ; look at Homer. 
There is no end to the juncketings in the Iliad, sir ; and 
the Greek heaven, sir, is pretty well supplied with every 
thing else but water, I believe. 

r ‘ This did to laughter cheer 

White- wristed Juno, who now took a cup of him, and smiled, 

The sweet peace-making draught went round, and lame Ephaistus 
Nectar to all the other gods. A laughter never left, [filled 

Shook all the blessed deities, to see the lame so deft 
At the cup service. All that day, even till the sun went down, 

They banqueted; and had such cheer as did their wishes crown.’ ” 

“ What was Homer’s peculiar tipple, Doctor ?” 

“ The wine of Chios, sir, undoubtedly. In this island, 
it is said, the first wines were made by CEnopion, son of 
Bacchus ; and here, too, it. is said Homer was born. I 
believe both, sir. Prom the island of Chios came the 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


27 


first wine and the first epic, sir; hand in hand they came 
into the world, and hand in hand they will go out of it, 
sir I” 

“ The Romans, Doctor, were great wine-drinkers.” 

“ Yes, my learned friend. Falernian and Massic, sir, 
inspired Virgil and Horace, and the poets have made 
the wines immortal. Martial praises his native wine 
of Tarragonia, sir ; he was an old she # rry drinker. 
And had the Italian vine, sir, perished with the Roman 
Empire, I have my doubts whether Dante, Pulci, Tasso, 
Petrarch, Bo'iardo, and Ariosto would have been what 
they now are in the eyes of an admiring posterity. Yes, 
sir, and there is Redi, too ! Why, the whole of Italy is 
in his ‘ Bacco in Toscana .’ ” 

“ What wine do you suppose Shakspeare preferred, 
Doctor ?” 

“ Sack ! my learned friend — dry Sherry or Canary, sir. 
All the poets of the Elizabethan age, sir, were sack-drink- 
ers — Ben Johnson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Marlowe, Ra- 
leigh, Chapman, Spencer, Sydney — so, too, w r as Herrick, 
as he says : 

‘ Thy lies shall lack 

Grapes, before Herrick leave Canarie Sack.’ 
and the other writers of his time, sir — Carew, Wither, 
Cowley, Waller, Crashaw, Broome — 

‘ All worldly care is Madness ; 

But Sack and good Chear 
Will, in spite of our fear, 

Inspire our Souls with Gladness.’ 


28 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


That was the burthen of a song in the time of the Rump, 
sir! It was a ‘Rump and dozen’ in those days, my 
learned friend.” 

“ One writer of that period was an exception, Doctor.” 

“ What writer, sir ?” 

“Milton.” 

“ Died of the gout, sir — died of the gout, sir. Milton, 
my dear friend, died of the gout.” 

‘ ‘ Cervantes was a Sherry-drinker, Doctor ?” 

“Of course, my learned friend. And, no doubt, the 
‘ Yal de Penas’ of La Mancha was a favorite beverage 
with him. But, sir,” continued Dr. Bushwhacker sud- 
denly, sitting upright and holding his head like a poised 
avalanche, “by speaking of Cervantes, sir, you have put 
a keystone into the arch of my theory, sir. The Eliza- 
bethan era should be called the age of Sack, sir. Look 
at those two great writers, Shakspeare and Cervantes, 
each a transcendant genius, sir ; both living at the same 
time, sir ; both dying on the same day, sir — on the 23d 
of April, 1616.” 

“Well, Doctor?” 

“And both drinking Sack, sir, or Sherry, constantly. 
‘ If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I 
would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations, 
and to addict themselves to Sack.’ Shakspeare, sir ! King 
Henry Fourth, part second, act fourth, scene third, sir!” 

“How long did this golden age of Sack continue, 
Doctor ?” . 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


29 


“ Until Charles the Second returned from France, and 
brought Claret into fashion. You can see the light, deli- 
cate, fanciful potable, sir, in the literature of this period 
as plain as sunlight. Next came the age of Port, sir, in 
Queen Anne’s reign.” ' 

“ Ah I I remember, the Methuen treaty.” 

“Yes, sir, the treaty of 1703. Port was encouraged 
*by low duties, and lighter and better wines of other coun- 
tries interdicted by enormous imposts, and in consequence 
we have a new school of literature, sir. The imaginative, 
the nervous, the pathetic, the humorous, and the sublime 
departed with the age of Sack ; the gay, the witty, the 
amorous, and the fanciful, with the age of Claret ; and 
the artificial, the critical, the satirical, and the common- 
place arose, sir, with the age of Port ! But bless my 
heart,” said Doctor Bushwhacker, rising and looking at 
his watch, 4 4 1 must look after my patients. The next 
time we meet we will have a talk over modern wines and 
authors, and that will be more interesting, I dare say.” 


'NotaWes anir 

“The last discourse we had, my learned friend,” said 
Dr. Bushwhacker, “ was about wine and wisdom. What 
shall be the next ?” 

“ Pardon me, Doctor, we are not yet through with 


30 NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 

that. We reached Port and Queen Anne; what followed 
after the age of Pope and Addison ?” 

' “The prohibition of wine, sir,” replied the Doctor, 
solemnly, “led to the substitution of spirits. You see 
how Hogarth, in his immortal pictures, shows its pro- 
gress in Gin Lane. Well, sir, if you wish to see how 
intimate are the relations between drinking and thinking, 
mark the host of clever literary vagabonds of this period/ 
Genius in rags, sir ; genius with immortal thoughts in his 
brain and no crown to his hat ; Pegasus, with everything 
but his wings, in the pawnbroker’s shop. The long ex- 
hausting toil of literary occupation, which needs a natu- 
ral stimulant, such as wine, (for men of sedentary habits 
must have it, sir,) was relieved by stronger stimulants, 
because they were cheaper. And now, sir, mark the two 
great geniuses of the middle of the last century, Fielding 
and Smollett ; see the wonderful power of those writers, 
and observe the characteristic coarseness of their works, 
and what else is there to say 4 to point a moral,’ farther, 
than that Smollett, with a shattered constitution, went to 
Le'ghorn, to die there; and Fielding, with a shattered 
constitution, went to Lisbon, to die there. Fielding, at 
the age of 47, and Smollett at the age of 50, sir.” 

“ What would you infer from that, Doctor ?” 

“ Sir,” replied the Doctor, “ I leave you to draw the 
inference. Now, sir, we come to another epoch. A 
period, sir, of great mental brilliancy, and I wish you to 
observe that fine wine drinking had again become fash- 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 31 

ionable. Claret was monstrously expensive, but claret was 
the mode. Now, sir, we have Fox, and Pitt, and Sheri- 
dan, and Burke, and Chesterfield, and Garrick, and Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, and Goldsmith. And among this bril- 
liant cluster there stands out conspicuous a remarkable 
figure. Not that he was greater tjian these, not that his 
genius was superior, nor his wisdom more profound, yet 

still the most conspicuous figure in the group was ” 

“ Dr. Samuel Johnson.” 

“Dr. Jamuel Johnson,” echoed Dr. Bushwhacker. 
“ Did you ever know, sir, leaving out a few of our prom- 
inent liydrophobists, a man so eminent for invective, 
asperity, bitterness, insolence, dogmatic assumption, and 
gluttony, as the Ursa Major of English literature ? And, 
sir, he was a total abstinent. To use his own words: k I 
now no more think of drinking wine than a horse does. 
The wine upon the table is no more for me than for the 
dog who is under the table.’ But he could drink, sir, 
twenty-three cups of tea at poor Mrs. Thrale’s table at a 
sitting, until four o’clock in the morning, sir, wh^ch may 
be set down as a fair sample of teetotal debauchery, my 
learned friend.” 

“Dr. Johnson was a very good hearted man, I 
believe.” 

“A good man, sir, a good man, sir. His charity, his 
candor, his tenderness, his attachment to his friends, his 
love of the poor, his rigid honesty, his piety, and his filial 
affection, were wonderful, sir, We all love this Samuel 


32 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


Johnson. But, sir, there was also another character ; an 
irritable, uncouth, imperious, ill-tempered, gluttonous, 
rude, prejudiced, intolerant, violent, unsparing old cynic; 
and this Samuei Johnson we do not love. Sir, human 
nature has scarcely formed a character so disproportion- 
ate. He was a great pian, sir, and a great bear, sir.” 

“ I thought you said no water drinker ever was a great 
man, Doctor?” 

“My learned friend,” replied the Doctor, growing 
slightly purple, “Dr. Samuel Johnson was a tea drinker , 
and used to be a wine drinker! But hand me the 
Madeira, if yon please, and a handful of filberts. At the 
next dinner we will talk of the writers of this century. 
What is this wine ?” 

“Virginia Reserve, Doctor.” 

“ Then we will drink it, sir ; Virginia is a noble State, 
and it is full of noble men — ” 

“ And women, Doctor.” 

“ God bless you, my dear friend — and women !” 


Notables anir ^otables^dontmueir. 

“What do you think of whiskey-punch, Doctor, as a 
potable ?” 

“Bless my heart!” said the Doctor, shaking his bushy 
mane, “by all means; I never refuse it. ” 

( Enter a tray , two lemons , hot water , a silver sugar 
howl , and the Islay.) 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


33 


“ Punch,” said Doctor Bushwhacker, “was the 
chief inspirer of the hearty, homely, natural, vigorous 
writers of this century. You see how the great Sir 
Walter used it, sir ; there is a touch of ‘ mountain dew’ 
in his tenderest productions, sir; the Heart of Mid- 
Lothian could never have been written by a cpld-water 
drinker — no, sir ; nor was it. I may even go a little farther 
back, to a more unfortunate child of genius — Burns, sir ! 
Kobert of Ayrshire’ loved the barley broo — ‘ not wisely, 
but too well ’ — for himself ; he was improvident ; but 
then he made posterity rich. (A little more of the Islay ; 
thank you.”) 

“Byron, Doctor?” 

“ Drank gin ; that we know pretty well, I believe, my 
learned friend. There is a touch of juniper in all Byron 
— a mixture of the bitter and the aromatic.” 

“ And. Coleridge ?” 

“Coleridge,” said the Doctor, gravely, with a sort of 
emphatic spill of the hot fluid, “illustrates my theory in 
a remarkable manner, sir — Coleridge and De Quincey, 
both. What idea do you have of the Vision of Kubla 
Khan, and the Suspiria de Profundis, taken together ? 
My learned friend, he begins to dream who is absorbed " 
in the pages of either : the world, yea, the great globe 
itself, becomes intangible ; he is floating away, on a sea 
of ether, in space more illimitable than human thought 
could scan before ; his vision is dilated, yet undefined ; 
the procession of time sweeps on, measured by centuries; 

3 


34 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


events accumulate, with supernatural aggregation ; the 
scenery by which he is surrounded has surpassed sublimi- 
ty itself, and he listens to the river that runs 

*. through caverns, measureless to man. 

Down to a sunless sea.’ 

“Well, Doctor ?” 

“Opium, sir!” replied the Doctor, with awful solem- 
nity. 

“What of Charles Lamb, Doctor?” 

“Lamb ? Dear Charles, has certainly lisped of hot gin 
and water in his inimitable letters,” replied the Doctor, 
“or, as he would say, ‘ hot water , with a s-s-s-entiment 
of gin.’ ” 

“That sounds Lambish, Doctor.” 

“My learned friend,” replied Dr. Bushwhacker, “I 
know it ; I have got Charles Lamb by heart, sir. By the 
way, a new anecdote of Elia : he had a friend one night 
at No. 4 Inner Temple Lane ; negus was the potable of 
the evening, from tenderness to Mary’s feelings, who 
sometimes shook her sisterly head at the ‘s-s-s-entiment.’ 
It seems a poor cur dog had attracted the attention of the 
gentle-hearted Charles that day, and he had invited him 
in, fed him, and tied him up slightly in the little yard 
back of the house. Charles was talking in hie phospho- 
rescent way over the negus, when Mary interrupted him: 
‘Charles, that dog yelps so.’ Elia flashed on. ‘Charles, 
that dog — ’ ‘What i-i-is it, Mary? , Oh! the dog? 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


35 


He-lie-lie-lie’s enjoying him-s-s-self.’ ‘ Enjoying himself, 
Charles ?’ i Ye-y e-yes — as well as he can with ‘ whine and 
water.’ ” 

“ Capital story, Doctor. What of the Laureate ?” 

“ In reading Southey,” replied Doctor Bushwhacker, 

‘ 4 you feel the want of the rare old vinous smack pecu- 
liar to the writings of authors of eminence, sir. I may 
say the same, too, of Wordsworth. Both were tolerably 
abstinent ; but Southey had his wine-cellar at Greta Hall, 
and Wordsworth, in celebrating his first visit to the 
rooms once occupied by Milton at Christ College, was a 
little overcome, sir, by — a — his visit , sir. Southey, in his 
personal character, manners, and habits, must have re- 
sembled our dear Henry Inman, sir.” 

“And Hazlitt ?” 

“Misanthropic, cynical, Hazlitt, sir, used to drink 
black tea, sir, of the intensest strength. He is another 
illustration of my theory, sir.” 

“ And Keats ?” 

“ Bead Keats over, my learned friend ; and if you can 
unlatch the tendrils of the vine from any of his super- 
exquisite poems, great or small, then sir, I will bury my 
lancet. What a delicate taste for wine he must have had ! ” 

“And Shelley, Doctor ?” 

“ My dear friend,” said the Doctor, rising, and upset- 
ting his tumbler, “ Shelley never understood the human 
aspect of existence. I fear me he was not a wine-drinker. 
Suppose we say, or admit he was a solitary exception ? ” 


lUitatiles airtr 13otaJ)les=(Eontmucti. 


• “Do yon know,” said Dr. Bushwhacker, as he stretch- 
ed out his full glass to be touched, “how this custom 
originated? — this ringing of wine-bells or kissing of 
beakers, sir?” 

We replied in the negative. 

“ Then, sir, I will tell you,” replied the Doctor. “ It 
was the invention of a learned French philosopher, to il- 
lustrate the five senses. The beautiful color of wine 
delights the eye — seeing; the delicate bouquet gratifies 
the nose — smelling ; the cool glass suggests a pleasure to 
the fingers —feeling ; and, sir, by drinking it we gratify 
exquisitely — the taste. Now, sir, touch glasses for the 
finest chime in the world, that rings out good fellowship, 
sir, and we have the fifth sense — hearing .” 

“ Quite a little poem, Doctor, in five lines.” 

“Put it in verse, sir, put it inverse — I give you the 
idea.” 

“ Apropos , Doctor, I have a German song here, trans- 
lated by a friend: Let me read it to you. ( Editor reads.) 

‘“LOVE, SONG, AND WINE. 

“‘Dear Fredericks: A. Walther writ this in “quaint 
old sounding German.” It is done into English by your 
friend, Hugh Pynnsaurrt. 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


37 


“ ‘ Through the gloom of this sad life of ours, 

Three glorious planets still shine, 

Serene from the azure of heaven, 

And men call them Love, Song, and Wine, 

“ ‘ In the dear voice of love all the passion 
Of a trusting and earnest heart lies ; 

And pleasure by love grows immortal, 

While soitow faints, withers, and dies, 

“ ‘ Then wine gives a courage to passion, 

Inspires the melodious art, 

And reddens the gold of the sunlight 
That streams o’er the May of the heart, 

“ ‘ But song is most noble of all these ; 

To mortals it adds the divine ; 

It thrills through our hearts like a passion, 

And glows through our senses like wine. 

# 

“ 1 Then quench all the rest of the planets, 

Bid the golden-rayed stars cease to shine ; 

We’ll not miss them so long as God leaves us 
Those heart-stars of Love, Song, and Wine.’” 

‘ Excellent ! ” said the Doctor, shaking his bushy head. 
“By the way, what grand old songs those Rhine songs 
are ! And the vineyards of the Rhine are reflected in 
the songs as they are in the river. ‘ 0 ! the pride of the 
German heart is this noble River ! and right it is ; for of 
the rivers of this beautiful earth, there is none so beauti- 
ful as this. There is hardly a league of its whole course, 
from its cradle in the snowy Alps to its grave in the sands 
of Holland, which boasts not its peculiar charms. By 


38 


NOTABLES AND POTABLES. 


heavens ! if I were a German, I would be proud of it, 
too ; and of the clustering grapes that hang about its 
temples, as it reels onwards through vineyards in a tri- 
umphal march, like Bacchus, crowned and drunken.’ 
There, sir, what do you tldnk of that ?” 

“Grand, Doctor, like the triumphant chanting of an 
organ. Who wrote it ?” 

“Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, sir! Hyperion, sir! 
Bead it over, and get it by heart.” 

“The German writers all use the wines of Fatherland, 
Doctor.” 

“ Nearly all, from Martin Luther down. I say nearly 
all — Goethe was an exception. The courtly Goethe used 
to drink the fine Burgundies and Bordeaux of France. 
But Schiller, sir, was a Bhine-wine drinker. In fact his 
writing-table was always supplied with the golden pota- 
ble of the Bhine. Now, sir, we see between these two 
men of eminent genius, two separate and distinguishing 
characteristics. Goethe was different from all other 
German poets — but Schiller was above all other German 
poets, including Goethe himself.” 


VI. 


& tnto a gsalatr Botol. 

k 

Y dear, learned friend,” said the Doctor, “ a 
Bowl of Lettuce is the Venus of the dinner 
table ! It rises upon the sight cool, moist, and beauti- 
ful, like that very imprudent lady coming out of the 
sea, sir ! And to complete the image, sir, neither should 
be dressed too much ! ” 

When Dr. Bushwhacker had issued this observation, 
he drew himself up in a very portly manner, as if he felt 
called upon to defend himself as well as his image. Then, 
after a short pause, he broke — silence. 

“ Lactuca , or lettuce, is one of the most common vege- 
tables in the world ; it has been known, sir, from time 
immemorial ; it was as common, sir, on the tables of 
the ancients as it is now, and was eaten in the same way, 
sir, dressed with oil and vinegar. We get, sir, from 
Athenaeus some idea of the condiments used : not all of 
these contributed to make a salad, but it shows they had 
the materials : — 

“ ‘ Dried grapes, and salt, and eke new wine 
Newly boiled down, and asafcetida, (pah !) 

And cheese, and thyme, and sesame, (open sesame,) 

And nitre too, and cummin-seed, 

And sumach, honey, and majorum* 



40 


A PEEP INTO A SALAD BOWL. 


And herbs, and vinegar, and oil, 

And sauce of onions, mustard, and capers mixed, 

And parsley, capers too, and eggs, 

And lime, and cardimums, and th’ acid juice 
Which comes from the green fig-tree ; besides lard, 

.And eggs and honey, and flour wrapped in fig-leaves. 

An d all compounded in one savory force-meat.’ 

They had pepper too. Ophelian says : — 

“ 1 Pepper from Libya take, and frankincense.’ 

So, sir, if you had dined with Alcibiades, no doubt he 
would have dressed a salad for you with Samian oil, and 
Sphettian vinegar, sir, pepper from Libya, and salt from 
— ah — hm — ” 

“ Attica, doctor.” 

“ Attica, my learned friend ; thank you. Now, sir, 
there was one thing the ancients did with lettuce which 
we do not do. They boiled it, sir, and served it up like 
asparagus ; so, too, did they with cucumbers — a couple 
of indigestible dishes they were, no doubt. Lettuce, my 
dear friend, should have a quick growth, in the first place, 
to be good ; it should have a rich mould, sir, that it may 
spring up quickly, so as to be tender and crisp. Then, 
sir, it should be new-plucked, carried from the garden a* 
few minutes before it is placed upon the table. I would 
suggest a parasol, sir, to keep the leaves cool until it 
reaches the shadow of within-doors. Then, sir, it must 
be washed — mind you — ice-water ! Then place it upon 
the table — what Corinthian ornament more perfect and 
symmetrical. Now, sir, comes the important part, the 
dressing. ‘To dress a salad,’ says the learned Petrus 


A PEEP INTO A SALAD BOWL. 


41 


Petronius, ‘you must have a prodigal to furnish the oil, 
a counselor to dispense the salt, a miser to dole out the 
vinegar, and a madman to stir it.’ Commit that to 
memory, my learned friend.” 

“ It is down, Doctor.” {Tablets.) 

“Let me show you,” continued. Dr. Bushwhacker, 
“ how to dress a salad. Take a small spoonful of salt, 
thus : twice the quantity of mustard — ‘ Durham’ — thus : 
incorporate : pour a slender stream of oil from the cruet, 
so : gently mix and increase the action by degrees,” 
(head of hair in commotion, and face brilliant in color ;) 
“ dear me ! it is very warm — now, sir, oil in abundance, 
so ; a dash of vinegar, very light, like the last touches of 
the artist ; and, sir, we have the dressing. Now, take up 
the lettuce by the stalk ! Break off the leaves — leaf by 
leaf — shake off the water, replace it in the salad-bowl, 
pepper it slightly, pour on the dressing, and there you 
have it, sir.” 

“ Doctor, is that orthodox ?” 

“ Sir,” replied Dr. Bushwhacker, holding the boxwood 
spoon in one hand and the box-wood fork in the other ; 
“ the eyes of thirty centuries are looking down upon me. 
I know that Frenchmen will sprinkle the lettuce with oil 
until it is thoroughly saturated ; then, sir, a little pepper ; 
then, sir, salt or not, as it happens ; then, sir, vinaigre 
» by the drop — all very well. Our people, sir, in the State 
of New Jersey, will dress it with salt, vinegar, and pep- 
per — perfectly barbarous, my learned friend ; then comes 


42 


A PEEP INTO A SALAD BOWL. 


the elaborate Englishman ; and our Pennsylvania friend, 
the Rev. Sidney Smith, sir, gives us a recipe in verse, 
that shows how they do it there, and at the same time, 
exhibits the deplorable ignorance of that very peculiar 
people.- I quote from memory, sir : — 

“ ‘ Two large potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve 
Smoothness and softness to the salad give ; 

Of mordant mustard add a single spoon, 

Distrust the condiment that bites too soon, 

But deem it not, Lady of herbs, a fault 
To add a double quantity of salt. 

Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown, 

And twice with vinegar procured from town ; 

True flavor needs it, and your poet begs 
The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs. 

Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, 

And, scarce suspected, animate the whole. 

Then lastly in the flavored compound toss 
One magic spoonful of anchovy sauce. 

O great and glorious ! O herbaceous treat ! 

’T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat ; 

Back to the world he’d turn his weary soul, 

And plunge his fingers in the Salad Bowl !’ 

Now, -sir, I have tried that, and a compound more execra- 
ble is not to be thought of. No, sir ! Take some of my 
salad, and see if you do not dream afterwards of the 
Greek mythology.” 


VII. 


JUa&ame jFollet. 

Y dear friend,” said the Doctor, holding his 
cnp in the left hand thumb and forefinger, 
with the other three fingers stretched out over the rest 
of the table, “I never inhale the fragrance of coffee 
without thinking of the old fashioned coffee pot, or 
‘Madame Follet,’ as dear Miss Bremer used to call it. 
Do you know, sir — and I suppose you know every thing 
— do you know, sir, there are a great many old fashioned 
people in the world ?” 

We replied, the fact was not to he disputed. 

‘f Old fashioned people, sir ; old fashioned in dress, in 
speech, in politeness, in ideas, in every thing. And, sir, 
not long since, I had occasion to visit two old ladies, sir ; 
I went down stairs to the basement dining room, sir, 
without ceremony, sir, and there I found the antiquated 
virgins over their coffee, sir ; and in the middle of the 
table there was the old fashioned tin coffee pot, sir, 
scoured as bright as sand could make it, with a great big 
superannuated spout, and a great broad backed handle, 
sir, and a great big, broad bottom, sir, as broad, sir, as 



44 


MADAM FOLLETT. 


the top of the great bell crowned hat I used to wear 
when I went to visit them as a spruce young buck, in the 
year eighteen hundred and twenty, sir.” Here the Doc- 
tor’s spectacles fairly glistened again. 

“Well, Doctor?” 

“ Sir,” replied Dr. Bushwhacker, “there was plenty 
of silver in the cupboard, plenty ; great pots, and coffee 
urns of solid metal, sir, with massive handles to match ; 
but they were so old fashioned as to prefer the old, 
scoured, broad bottomed tin pot, sir, and with reason, 
too, sir.” 

“Give us the reason, thereof, Doctor, if you please.” 

“Well, sir, one of the sisters apologized for the coffee 
pot in a still, small sort of a voice, a little cracked and 
chipped by constant use, and said, the reason why they 
drank their coffee out of that pot was because it ?iever 
seemed to taste so well out of anything else” 

“Why not, Doctor ?” 

“Why not? Easily enough explained, sir; we never 
make coffee in a silver urn, and when we pour it from the 
vessel in which it is made into another, we lose half the 
aroma, sir. Coffee is of most delicate and choice flavor, 
sir ; very few know how to make it or to use it. The 
proper way to make good coffee, sir, is to roast it care- 
fully in a cylinder over a charcoal fire, until it is of a light 
brown color ; then the cylinder should be taken off the 
fire and turned gently until the berries are thoroughly 
cooled. The best part of the aroma is dissipated, sir, by 


MADAM FOLLETT. 


45 


the abominable practice of turning out the coffee in an 
open dish so soon as it is roasted. Why, sir, any body 
can see that the finest part of it escapes ; you can smell it, 
sir, in every crack and corner of the house. When cooled, 
it should be put into a mortar and beat to powder. A cof- 
fee mill only cracks the grains, but a mortar pounds out 
the essential oil. Then, sir, put it into an old fashioned tin 
coffee pot, pour on the hot water, stand it over a fire, not 
too hot ; let it simmer gently . If your fire is too hot, it 
will burn the coffee and spoil it. Then, sir, take Madam 
Follett fresh from the fire, stand her on the table, and if 
you want an appreciative friend, send for me !” 

“What kind of coffee is the best, Doctor?” 

“Mocha, sir, from Arabia Felix. The first Mocha 
coffee that ever reached the Land of the Free and the 
Home of the Brave direct, sir, came in a ship belonging 
to Captain Derby, of Salem, in the year 1801.” 

“ When was coffee first used in Europe, Doctor?” 

“ That, my learned friend, is one of ‘ the two or three 
things to suggest conversation at the tea table,’ as our 
friend Willis has it. It is a matter of dispute, my learn- 
ed friend, and it will probably be settled after the com- 
mentators have agreed upon the proper way of spelling 
the name of Shakspeare, Shaksper, Shagsper, or what- 
ever you call him.” 

“How early was coffee in use in the world?” 

“ Sherbaddin, an Arab author, asserts that the first 
man who drank coffee was a certain Mufti, of Aden, who 


46 


MADAM FOLLETT. 


lived in the ninth century of the Hegira, about the year 
1500, my learned friend. So says Hr. Doran. The pop- 
ular tradition is, that the superior of a Dervish commu- 
nity, observing the effects of coffee berries, when eaten 
by some goats, rendering them more lively and skittish 
than before, prescribed it for the brotherhood, in order 
to cure them of drowsiness and indolence. Dickens, in 
Household Words, gives a capital account of the old cof- 
fee houses of London. By the way, there is an account, 
also, in Table Traits. Here is the book. 

“ ‘ Lend me thine ears.’ — Slmgsper. 

44 4 The coffee houses of England take precedence of 
those of France, though the latter have more enduringly 
flourished. In 1652, a Greek, in the service of an Eng- 
lish Turkey merchant, opened a house in London. 4 1 
have discovered his hand-bill,’ says Mr. Disraeli, 4 in 
which he sets forth the virtue of the coffee drink, first 
publiquely made and sold in England, by Pasqua Bosee, 
of St. Michael’s Alley, Comhill, at the sign of his own 
head.’ Mr. Peter Cunningham cites a MS. of Oldys’ in 
his possession, in which some fuller details of much in- 
terest are given. Oldys says : 4 The first use of coffee in 
England was known in 1657, when Mr. Daniel Edwards, 
a Turkey merchant, brought from Smyrna to London one 
Pasqua Bosee, a Bagusan youth, who prepared this drink 
for him every morning. But the novelty thereof drawing 
too much company to him, he allowed his said servant, 
with another of his son-in-law’s, to sell it publicly ; and 
they set -up the first coffee house in London, in St. Mi- 
chael’s Alley, Cornhill. But they separating, Pasqua 
kept in the house ; and he who had been his partner ob- 
tained leave to pitch a tent, and sell the liquor, in St. 


MADAM FOLLETT. 


47 


Michael’s church yard.’ Aubrey, in his Anecdotes , states 
that the first vender of coffee in London was one Bow- 
man, coachman to a Turkey merchant, named Hodges, 
who was the father-in-law of Edwards, and the partner 
of Pasqua, who got into difficulties, partly by his not be- 
ing a freeman, and who left the country. Bowman was 
not only patronized, but a magnificent contribution of 
one thousand sixpences was presented to him, where- 
with he made great improvements in his coffee house. 
Bowman took an apprentice, (Paynter,) who soon learnt 
the mystery, and in four years set up for himself. The 
coffee houses soon became numerous ; the principal were 
Farres’, the Bainbow, at the Inner Temple Gate, and 
John’s, in Fuller’s Bents.’ 

‘ 4 There, sir ; and now, my learned friend, I must pay 
a visit to that charming lady, Mrs. Potiphar, who is suf- 
fering severely with a neuralgia.” 


VIIL 


© lir prases. 

Jffr 0R m J P ar V’ said the Doctor, “I do not see 
how we could get along without them. The 
old phrases, the idioms, the apothegms of a people are 
the gold and silver coins of their language, bearing a pro- 
portionate value, as many hundred times, to the common 
stock of words, as these do to the copper currency. Sir, 
if you will get the ‘Lessons on Proverbs,’ by Kichard 
Che ve nix Trench, you will find you have, a sub-treasury 
of wisdom, my learned friend.” 

“Do you not think, Doctor, there is a coarseness in 
familiar proverbs that diminishes their value in polite 
society ?” 

“ No, sir, I do not think so,” replied* the Doctor vehe- 
mently. “ To be sure, there may be, here and there one 
in which an allusion might offend a sensitive mind ; but, 
generally speaking, they are rather robust, instead of 
coarse, strong without being indelicate. Cervantes felic- 
itously calls them ‘ Sentencias brevas sacadas de la luenga 
y discreta experiencia ? — short sentences drawn from long 
and wise experience. Common enough are they among 


* 


OLD PHRASES. 


49 


uneducated people, but not the less valuable for that rea- 
son, sir ; proverbs may be called the literature of the 
illiterate — another mouthful of the Mumm, sir — thank 
you.” 

“How do you like that wine, Doctor?” 

“Grand, sir; glorious, sir; ‘Mumm’s the word,’ sir. 
If Shakspeare were living, sir, he would forswear sack, 
and say ‘ Mumm ? — ‘a jewel of a wine, sir — Jewel 
Mumm.” 

“ The phrase you have just used, Doctor, is a common 
one.” 

“ ‘Mumm’s the word?’ True, my learned friend. Dr. 
Johnson, that stupendous lexicographer, remarks of the 
word mumm, it may be observed that when it is pro- 
nounced it leaves the lips closed, thus,” (lips in sculptured 
silence.) 

“How did the phrase originate, Doctor?” 

“ That, sir, is a question I cannot answer. There are 
phrases, sir, beyond the scope of records, written or 
printed, so old, sir, that, to use the words of our friend 
Blackstone, ‘ the memory of man runneth not to the con- 
trary’ — they were always in use. Others we can trace at 
once to their originals ; such as, ‘How we apples swim,’ 
to a fable in HCsop ; or, ‘ To see ourselves as others see 
us,’ to a poem of Burns; there are legions of phrases 
from the Bible, not one of which inculcates a sentiment 
not divine in its humanity ; there are scores from Shaks- 
peare, scores from Pope, scores from Young, some from 
* 4 


50 


OLD PHRASES. 


Byron, from Milton, Cowper, Thomson, Campbell, Gold- 
smith, Spenser, Addison, Congreve, Prior, Sir Philip 
Sidney, Gray, Collins, Cowley, our own poets, sir — and 
Daniel Webster, sir, Halleck and Irving.” 

“ There is no fear of a language, Doctor, in which such 
coin is current.” 

“No, sir; nor of a people! But there are other 
phrases which, to the undisciplined ear, seem coarse and 
Vulgar, yet involving a story clever enough in itself to be 
preserved.” 

“ For instance ?” 

“For instance, ‘The gray mare is the better horse.’ 
We know very well the line is in Prior’s Epilogue to 
Lucius ; but the story from which the phrase is derived 
is something like this : A gentleman, who had seen the 
world, one day gave his eldest son a span of horses, a 
chariot, and a basket of eggs. ‘Do you,’ said he to the 
boy, ‘ travel upon the high road until you come to the 
first house in which there is a married couple. If you 
find the husband is the master there, give him one of the 
horses. If, on the contrary, the wife is the ruler, give 
her an egg. Return at once if you part with a horse, 
but do not come back so long as you keep both horses, 
and there is an egg remaining.’ Away went the boy full 
of his mission, and just beyond the borders of his father’s 
estate lo ! a modest cottage. He alighted from the char- 
iot and knocked at the door. The good wife opened it 
for him and curtesied. ‘Is your husband at home?’ 


OLD PHRASES. 


51 


‘ No ;’ but she would call him from the hay field. In he 
came, wiping his brows. The young man told them his 
errand. ‘Why,’ said the wife, bridling* and rolling the 
corner of her apron, ‘I always do as John wants me to 
do ; he is my master — an’t you, John ?’ To which John 
replied, ‘Yes.’ ‘ Then,’ said the boy, ‘ I am to give you 
a horse ; which will you take ?’ ‘ I think,’ said John,' ‘ as 
how that bay gelding seems to be the one as would suit 
me the best.’ ‘ If we have a choice, husband,’ said the 
wife, ‘Z think the gray mare will suit us better.’ ‘No,’ 
replied John, ‘the bay for me; he is more square in 
front, and his legs are better.’ ‘Now,-’ said the wife, ‘I 
don’t think so ; the gray mare is the better horse ; and I 
shall never be contented unless I get that one.’ ‘Well,’ 
said John, ‘ if your mind is sot on it, I’ll give up ; we’ll 
take the gray mare.’ ‘ Thank you,’ said the boy ; ‘ allow 
me to give you an egg from this basket ; it is a nice fresh 
one, and you can boil it hard or soft as your wile will 
permit.’ The rest of the story you may imagine; the 
young man came home with both horses, but not an egg 
remained in his basket.” 

“ That is a scandalous story, Doctor.” 

“True, my learned friend; but after we finish this 
M u mm , I will tell you another with a better moral.” 


<©lii Pjrascs=(£onthuictr. 

“Let ns,” said the Doctor, “take up the familiar, 
every day language — the language, sir, not of the draw- 
ing room, but of the street — the language, not of the beau, 
but of the b’hoy, sir, and dissect it.” Here the Doctor 
rolled up his wristbands, and armed himself with a fruit- 
knife, in the most formidable manner. “Let us,” he 
continued, tapping the ringing rim of the finger-bowl, 
“dissect it, sir, and expose its muscles, ligalnents, and 
tendons, its veins and its arteries, its viscera, its nerves 
and its ganglionic system, and sir, we will find that these 
old phrases are the very bones of the system, sir, the 
framework that sustains and supports all the rest. Yes, 
my learned friend, take even a tissue of slang, and you 
will find it full of marrow-bones ! ” 

“Among some people the range of ideas being limited 

5? 

“The range of ideas being limited,” interrupted the 
Doctor, “the range of expression is necessarily limited 
also. Yet, you will see how readily, even with a small 
stock of words, the b’lioys make themselves understood. 
One word passes muster for many, by dint of inflection 
and gesture : a single phrase sir, will often convey as 
many separate and opposite meanings, as a single string 
on Ole Bull’s violin will express separate and opposite 


OLD PHRASES. 


53 


sentiments. Why, sir, the slang phrase, 4 that’s so,’ is 
used to signify affirmation, confirmation, doubt, interro- 
gation, irony, triumph, and despair ; and a host besides 
of shades of sense relative to the subject in hand. 
‘ You’d better believe it,’ is sometimes a taunt, or a men- 
ace, as the case may be ; sometimes a grave and weighty 
piece of advice; and sometimes significant . of its own 
opposite — that is, 4 You had better not believe it.’ Now 
my learned friend, if we could only trace these phrases, 
and betimes we will, we would find them to be, not 
the property of this generation, but the original expres- 
sions of a people very much fore-shortened in language, 
some centuries behind the curtain of Shakspeare ; or else 
the result, the quotient, of some old story, from which 
every thing else had been subtracted.” 

“Doctor, pardon me for interrupting you.” 

“Willis,” continued the Doctor, “did originate some 
phrases, sir, such as 4 the upper ten thousand.’ You see 
how it has been trimmed down to 4 the upper ten,’ and 
by and by it will be used to signify a class simply, with- 
out any reference to its previous purport. And in this 
connection the facile terminal ‘dom^ which so often has 
brought up the rear-guard of a sentence in the papers, is 
due to Willis, who struck it out in ‘japonicadom’ — a 
most happy and felicitous phrase.” • 

44 Doctor, I would like ” 

“ Some authors write whole volumes without a catch- 
word ” 


54 


OLD PHKASES. 


“To ask if yon 

“ Others again press a score of them in a ” 

“ Can tell me ” 

* “Chapter. Well, sir?” 

“ Whether you can tell me what was the origin of the 
phrase — ‘ a fish story? ’ ” 

“Certainly,” responded Dr. Bushwhacker; “every 
body knows that : An old Indian, who had been convert- 
ed by the missionaries, got along very well as far as 
‘ Jonah and the whale,’ where he faltered a little, but 
finally passed over that, and went on. At last he reached 
the history of Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego, in the 
fiery furnace. ‘Me no believe that,’ said the Indian. 
‘But you must believe it,’ said the missionaries. # The 
Indian dissented ; but the missionaries cleved to the point 
of faith at issue. At last, after a prolonged debate, in 
which the Indian distinguished himself by a display of 
natural eloquence, the old aboriginal wound up the string 
by saying, ‘ Now, I tell you, me no believe that ; and 
since you make me mad, me no believe too that fish 
story ! ’ 

“That is the origin of the phrase, sir, and it is not 
only original but aboriginal.” 


«» 

Y learned friend,” said the Doctor, glaring 
at ns through his critical specs, “ I have 
seen both exhibitions, the British and the French. I was 
delighted sir, delighted with the French exhibition. The 
people of France, sir, are essentially an aesthetic people ; 
they strive to please you sir, and they succeed in pleasing 
you ; they rarely widen their callipers beyond the limits 
of decorum ; they kill their tragedy heroes in abattoirs 
behind the scenes, and never venture to intrude upon us 
those coarser emotions which are independent of taste 
and politeness ; so, sir, I visited the French exhibition 
with pleasure, and came away gratified. I do not remem- 
ber any single pictures except those of Bosa Bonheur, 
and they struck me, perhaps, because they reminded me 
of something I had seen in nature that was familiar ; but 
otherwise, I have only a general impression, sir, of pleas- 
ure, of great pleasure. It was far different, sir, with the 
British exhibition. I was not pleased with it, sir, not 
pleased with it. I came away, sir, with my emotions ex- 
cited, and in a state of disagreement. You know my love 
of Shakspeare, sir ! Well, sir, I never felt such divine pity 



56 


ART. 


for King Lear, such exquisite sympathy for J uliet (out 
of the hook), as I felt when I saw those pictures of F. 
Madox Brown, and Frederick Leighton. As for the hulk 
6f the rest, the modern school of British Art, it is ex- 
pressed forcibly in a line, so contemptuous, sir, that from 
my love of the aesthetic and the agreeable, I am almost 
afraid to quote it. But, sir, as an arbiter of matters of 
taste, I cannot refrain from saying of the modern school 
of British Art : that — 

1 Extreme exactness is the sublime of fools,' 
and, sir, you may try the measure by the spots on the 
sailor boy’s breeches, or the twigs on any one of the pre- 
Baphaelite trees, and if you are not convinced of the 
truth of the above maxim, then try it on Buskin’s own 
picture, ‘ Study of a block of Gneiss, Valley of Cha- 
mouni , Switzerland , No. 155.’ Buskin, sir, is a great 
writer, a great rhetorician ; his persuasive powers are 
wonderful, dazzling, but not reliable , sir. Put a pen in 
his hand and Buskin can make his mark. Put a pallet 
on his thumb, and Buskin sinks into the lowest depths 
of Buskinism.” 

* “My dear Doctor!” 

“Yes, sir, into the lowest depths of Buskinism. His 
tre-foil, cinque-foil windows are very nice things in print, 
and we admire them; as well as his lichens, mosses, 
striae, and the oxide stains of his wonderful gneiss bould- 
ers ; but, sir, what is the use of having Buskin’s meagre 
'representation of a lichen covered, metallic stained boulder 


ART. 


57 


from an obscure corner of the globe, in our parlor, when 
we can have the real article from the richest mineral 
kingdom on earth, just by rolling it in ?” 

“But there is the sentiment, Doctor.” 

“The sentiment? My learned friend, if there is no 
sentiment in the original, what can you look for in the 
mere copy ?” 

“But, Doctor, what do you think of Holman Hunt’s 
‘ Light of the World ?’ ” 

“•An exquisite bit of art, a happy adaptation of the 
school to a single figure; lucky was it for him that he 
had no other figures in the background.” 

“Why, Doctor?” 

“Because the school has no idea of atmosphere, sir — 
atmosphere, distance, perspective ! Look at the back- 
ground figures in his picture of St. Agnes’ Eve ; the 
features, the expression of every face, painted as elabo- 
rately as if they were in the foreground. Is that the way 
nature exhibits her panorama? Sir, so far from features, 
or the expression of features, being recognizable at that 
distance, I can tell you that it would be difficult to say 
whether there were men or women, yes, bipeds or quad- 
rupeds in that perspective.” 

“Nevertheless, Doctor, you must admit . that they are 
very beautiful works of art. Just think of the man who 
can paint such pictures. Is he not very much elevated 
by genius abore his fellows ?” 

“Unquestionably he is, and when all that is now 


58 


AET. 


claimed for him lias passed through the ordeal of detrac- 
tion, the pre-Raphaelite, or post-Raphaelite painter, will 
find a proper niche, when all the symbols of his art are, 
to quote Shakspeare : 

“ * In tlie deep bosom of the ocean buried.’ 

And, by the way, why not have a pre-Shakspearean 
school! Why not!” 

‘ 4 Doctor, that is a capital idea.” 

“My learned and dear friend, I was only in jest. A 
school ! My dear friend, you have never yet, and never 
will see a school of great men. Intellect of the first class 
is great — independent — single — alone ! It has no scho- 
lastic limits, no pedantry, no peers. The moment art 
ceases to appeal to sympathies and emotions, and contents 
itself with the hare representation of forms, it comes in 
competition with the photograph, and at once is beaten 
by the more elaborate delineation of the camera.” 

“But, Doctor, you forget the symbols of the pre- 
Raphaelite school!” 

“Symbols, symbols! and of a school? What! has 
this age of intelligence to be instructed by symbols of a 
school of painters ? If they are able to convey ideas by 
symbols, why do they write the names of their pictures 
in Saxon characters on the frames? Why not let the 
symbols explain the symbols ? They teach us what art 
is, by symbols! Faugh! If that is high art, let me 
begin with the rudiments, and study it out — from the 
alphabet of a Chinese teacup.” 


X. 


Eraiental 

(^U|[ R* Bushwhacker came to us, to-day, in an old fasli- 
ioned, full circle blue Spanish cloak, a fur cap, a 
carpet bag, and a small package of pemmican in his 
hand. He deposited these articles in the hall, shook the 
hand of my wife impressively, and caressed the children 
with warmth and tenderness. The Doctor is usually 
♦boisterous with children, but to-day he was subdued. 
Moreover, he gave each of them a keep-sake. To Bessy 
a stalactite from the grotto of Antiparos ; to Lucy a little 
paper of sand from the Desert of Sahara ; Tom had a 
vial of water from the pool of Bethesda; and Jack a 
twig of ivy from Melrose Abbey. Even the baby was 
not forgotten, for he had brought it a Chinese rattle, that 
no doubt was contemporary with the age of Confucius ; 
and to my wife he presented a little book made of papy- 
rus, inscribed with Coptic characters, which might have 
been decyphered had they not been obliterated by time. 
Then, putting his hand in his left vest pocket, he drew 
forth a present for me. It was his lancet, which, he 
assured me, had bled more respectable people than any 
other lancet in fashionable practice. “My learned 
friend,” said he, “you have no idea of the fees which 


60 


ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 


have accumulated upon the point of this instrument. 
But the old practice, sir, the old, venerable, respectable 
practice is vanishing in these new fangled, latter-day- 
lights of science. The good old days of calomel and 
tartar emetic have departed. The late Surgeon General 
broke down the time-consecrated faith in these specifics, 
and now, sir, we have to study the physical idiosyncrasies 
of a patient before we prescribe, as diligently as lawyers 
do when working up a case in their profession. The good 
old easy days are gone, sir — but I hear the dinner bell ! ” 

The Doctor was silent during the repast. But a bottle 
of “Old Wanderer, 1822,” as bright as a topaz, drew 
him out. Poising the straw stem glass between his 
thumb and forefinger, and viewing the shining fluid with 
the eye of a connoisseur, he broke forth — “My learned 
friend, do you suppose that the science of chemistry has 
advanced so far that this wine could be imitated even b^ 
a Liebig ?” 

“ Certainly not, Doctor. To any person of fine taste, 
all imitations must pass for imitations. They no more 
resemble the original than ” • 

4 4 Imitations usually do. I know what you want to say, 
my learned friend. All plagiarisms are as inferior to 
originals, as copies of great pictures, or plaster casts of 
great sculptures, are inferior to the works which the pen- 
cil or the chisel, in the hands of a great master of his art, 
has accomplished. This is so well understood in the 
mere sensuous works of painters and sculptors that even 


ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 


61 


the most accurate copy of a Raphael, or of a Leonardi di 
Yinci, is nothing worth comparing with the original. 
But how is it with literature, my learned friend ?” 

“ I do not understand you, Doctor.” 

“ How is it with literature ? Do you think that you 
can ever build up an American literature, if the chief 
merit of our native authors exists only by imitation? 
Dr. Drake, sir, Joseph Rodman Drake was an exam- 
ple. He was an original native poet, sir. Who has fol- 
lowed his example ? Not one.” 

“That would be imitation, Doctor.” 

“No, sir. It would be emulation . There is a nice 
distinction between the two phrases.” 

“But what do you mean by plagiarisms, Doctor ?” 

“ That is rather a harsh term to use. Suppose we call 
them ‘accidental resemblances.’ Now, your friend, Barry 
Gray, paid you a great compliment in accidentally resem- 
bling your style. My dear old friend, Washington Irv- 
ing, once said to me: ‘ Who is this Barry Gray? He has 
stolen from the Sparrowgrass Papers, the style of the 
author. Materials are everywhere, and are common prop- 
erty. But a new style is the author's oion. Tell me the 
real name of Barry Gray, that I may know upon whom 
to pour the full measure of my contempt, for I hate these 
literary pilferers.’ ” 

“ Surely, Doctor, you know what stopped my pen at 
that time, and so spare me.” 

“ Suppose we take up Halleck as an example,” said 
the Doctor, sententiously. 


62 ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 

“Great heavens, Doctor! Halleck! I know that 
‘ Fanny,’ has been assumed by the critics to be an imita- 
tion of Don Juan, but, really, it was written before Don 
Juan was published. Lord Byron’s story of Beppo sug- 
gested the metre, and Halleck wrote ‘ Fanny’ before Don 
Juan had crossed the Atlantic.” 

“ What do you think,” said the Doctor, “ of his eulogy 
on Burns ? 

u ‘And if despondency weigh down, 

Thy spirits’ fluttering pinions then, 

Despair — thy name is written on 
The roll of common men.’” 

“Well, Doctor?” 

“ Shakspeare, sir ! Henry IV, Part I, Act III, Scene 
First, — 

“ ‘And all the courses of my life do show, 

I am not in the roll of common men.’ ” 

“Ah, Doctor! Halleck intended that to be a quota- 
tion.” 

“Now, sir,” continued the Doctor, “we have Henry 
(again) IY, Part I, Act IV, Scene First, as authority for 
another popular catch word — 

“‘There is not such a word spoken of in Scotland, as tips term fear.’ 
And Bulwer in his “ Richelieu ” says— 


“ ‘ There is no such word as fail.’ 


accidental resemblances. 


63 


Do you not see the palpable resemblance of these two ? ” 
“ True, Doctor, but what shall be said of them except 
that they are •” 

“Accidental resemblances! Now, here is another 
example, from Paul Revere’s Ride in Longfellow’s i Way- 
side Inn’: — 

“ * Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 

I hear the tramp of his hoof as he rides.’ 

But Tennyson had already written in his wonderful dra- 
matic poem of Man — 

Low on the sand, and loud on the stone, 

The last wheel echoes away.’ 

What do you think of that ?” 

“Ah, Doctor, you are rather hypercritical.” 

“ Do you think so ?” said the Doctor, slightly redden- 
ing, for he does not like his opinions to be impugned. 

“ What do you think of this from the Birds of Kil- 
lingworth, in the same volume ? 

“ ‘ And rivulets rejoicing, rush and leap, 

And wave their fluttering signals from the steep.’ ” 

“Well, Doctor, I never heard that before, and it is a 
beautiful image.” 

“ Beautiful ! indeed it is, if one had never before read 
Wordsworth’s ode on the ^Intimations of Immortality, 
where we have the same idea presented in a line, the 


64 


ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 


rejoicing, the rush and leap of the waters, the signal note, 
the great concurrence of waters, in one blast, as it were — 

« The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep.’ 

That, sir, is poetry, and the other is ” 

“ But surely, Doctor, you must admit ” 

“That Longfellow’s psalm of life is original. Arslonga 
vita brevis , is cleverly rendered. As for the rest of the 
stanza, though I will quote the whole of it 

Art is long, and time is fleeting, 

And our hearts though stout and brave, 

Still like muflled drums are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave.* 

I cannot quite subscribe to the originality of any part of 
it. In my copy of Cowley’s Poems, (folio 4 1668,’ page 13, 
of verses written on several occasions,) in his Ode upon 
Dr. Harvey, who had discovered the circulation of the 
blood ” 

“And a great discovery it was, Doctor !” 

“A great discovery, sir! As great in medical science, 
as Galileo’s discovery of the rotation of the earth, sir. In 
Cowley’s tribute to Dr. Harvey, we find this expression 
of the poet — full of his subject, the new discovery — the 
circulation of the blood. 

# * the untaught heart began to beat 

The tuneful march to vital heat.’ 

And here we see the idea o*f the march, of the musical 


ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 65 

instruments, of the band, of the drums beating, embodied 
in the lines of our Cambridge friend.” 

44 So then Cowley was the originator of that thought?” 

44 No, sir. I did not say so. His lines had 4 an acci- 
dental resemblance’ to the lines of Dr. Henry King, 
Bishop of Chichester, who had before written in a poem 
called the 4 Exequy,’ an ode dedicated to his deceased 
wife — 

44 4 But hark ! my pulse like a soft drum 
Beats my approach, tells that I come, 

And slow, however, my marches be, 

I shall at last sit down by thee.’ 

There, sir, what do you think of that ? ” 

44 Why, let us all thank Cod, Doctor, that such things 
have been modernized. Who the deuce could buy Cowley 
or Bishop King at this time ?” 

“Ah, my learned friend,” said the Doctor, “I do not 
like your remarks. I have paid a great deal of attention 
to these works of original men, and I would like to con- 
serve them, apart and entire from the vulgar world.” 

44 What good would that do, Doctor ?” 

Dr. Bushwhacker paused. He was evidently moving 
upon a different plane from the ordinary motion of mor- 
tals. His love of uncut editions floated before his eyes. 
Finally he broke forth: 

4 4 4 The blessings of Providence, like the dews of heaven, 
should fall alike upon the rich and the poor.’ — Andrew 

4 


66 ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 

Jackson. There, sir, yon have an original quotation from 
one of the greatest Presidents we ever had.” 

“No, Doctor, for in Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, 
which is one of the most comical books ever written, you 
will find on page 391, edition of 1836, printed for B. 
Blake, the following sentence: — 

‘As tlie rain fails on both sorts, so are riches given to good and bad.” ► 

“ That is so near Jackson’s motto, that the accidental 
resemblance is. palpable. Of course General Jackson had 
read Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, my learned friend. 
What hadn’t General Jackson read ?” 

“Now, Doctor, in regard to these matters, what do 
you think of Tennyson’s 

“ ‘ Flowers of all hues, and lovelier through their names,’ 
Introduced in the prologue to the Princess ?” 

The Doctor paused. — “ Tennyson is certainly an orig- 
inal poet.” 

“ But Milton in Book IY, verse 256, in Paradise Lost, 
has ‘flowers of all hues? Do you think Tennyson stole 
from Milton ?” 

“No, that was an accidental resemblance !” 

“What do you think of Lord Byron ? — 

j, “ ‘ For where the spahi’s hoof *has trod, 

There verdure flies the bloody sod,’ 

Compared with Dr. Fuller, in his Holy War, Chapter 
XXX. 

‘Grass springeth not where the grand signior setteth his foot.’ ” 


n 


* ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 67 

“Ah,” said the Doctor, “you are too inquisitive, and 
too hypercritical. 4 Grass springeth not where the grand 
Turk setteth his foot/ and ‘where tie spahi’s hoof has 
trod, there verdure flies the bloody sod/ is the same 
thought expressed in different ways. One is a common- 
place method of expressing a superstition common in 
the days of Fuller; the other a highly imaginative poeti- 
cal paraphrase of Lord Byron.” 

“But the thought was an accidental resemblance f 
sh, Doctor?” 

Dr. Bushwhacker, whose nut-pick had been busily em- 
ployed during this colloquy, and who had tasted succes- 
sively the Sherry, the Old Port, and the Wanderer of 
1822, now laid down the little steel implement, which, in* 
his hand, looked very much like a dentist’s tooth filler, 
brushed the lint of the napkin off his lap, and rose. 
“You ask me too much,” he said. “You overburthen 
my mind with ridiculous questions, and expect me to find 
answers for all the quips and cranks of an erratic brain. 
Do you not know, sir, it is much easier to ask questions 
than to find answers for them ? Good bye, sir ; I wish 
you a very good day. My compliments to your good 
lady, who, I suppose, is asleep by this time. And a kiss 
for all the little ones, who, no doubt, are in the same 
happy condition. I am going, sir, to a country where 
there are no poets, nor philosophers, nor plagiarists, nor 
politicians. To-morrow I shall take a steamer for San 
Francisco, and from that place I shall go to our new 


68 


ACCIDENTAL RESEMBLANCES. 


Russian American Possessions, among the Polar Bears, 
and the beauties of Arctic vegetation. Farewell ! and 
perhaps you will never hear more of Dr. Bushwhacker. 


Note. — After the Doctor had departed I found on my 
desk the following paper, which I recognized as being in 
his handwriting. As a literary curiosity, I have thought 
it worth preserving. 


XI. 


i&ttfca: ©ut acquisition. 

BY DR. BUSHWHACKER. 

n the Americo-Russian archipelago there is an 
> island called by the above name, on which is the 
capital city of New Archangel. It is situated off a belt of 
land, fringed with Russian islands, about thirty miles wide, 
and three hundred and forty-five miles long; which shuts off 
one-half of British America from the Pacific ; and north 
of that, the great peninsula, like a shoulder of mutton, 
tough, sinewy, and fat with Arctic animal life, rolls up 
into the mighty fore-arm of Mount St. Elias, and rolls down 
in avalanches, eternal snow-storms, glaciers, fogs, and icy 
rivers to the Pacific on the west side and to the Arctic Sea 
on the north side. To the consumptive patient the land of- 
fers few attractions, but to those philosophers, whose lungs 
are strong enough to endure the fatigues of a lecture-room, 
she has an eloquence and beauty, diversified with two 
volcanoes, whose throats are in a perpetual blaze of excite- 
ment. What splendor there is in jonder Aurora Borealis, 
that for myriads of years has played upon these lakes, 
streams, and mountain peaks ! How delicious nature is 
in her normal condition ! I think I hear one of the Strong 
Minded, say to her lovely companion in philosophy ! ‘Ah, ♦ 



70 SITKA : OUK NEW ACQUISITION. 

Maria ! let us lay aside our fans and our chignons , and put 
on snow shoes, and explore ! Will you go with me from 
the heated atmosphere of social life into the calm sequest- 
ered retreats of Russian America ? Shall we build huts 
of blocks of ice, like the hardy Esquimaux, and wrap our- 
selves in the drapery of a robe of sable skins or sea otters, 
worth $20,000 at least, and despise the pomp of this world? 
You know, my dear, sables are very cheap there. Cath- 
erine of Russia had to get her sables by keeping up a very 
expensive military establishment at Sitka. She was a 
very illustrious, strong-minded woman, to be sure; and 
her morals were a little loose, and she poisoned her 
husband ; but what are those trifling enjoyments compared 
with carrying out a great idea ? It is not so cold as the 
eastern side of the continent. The isothermal lines cause 
a great moderation in the atmosphere there. Let us 
•establish a school there. There are 78,000 souls — if they 
have souls— of Calmucs, Creoles, native Indians, Kuriles, 
Aleutians and Kodiaks, Kamschatkians and Esquimaux ; 
and how pleasant it will be to teach them the rudiments ! 
By and by they can vote. Fly with me, dear Maria ! 
Do you not long for the snow shoes that will carry you 
over those vast steppes to a superior intelligence ? An in- 
telligence with nature, a communion with her visible 
fotfns, a relief from the world, and the sweet sympathy 
that we shall feel with the Aurora Borealis ! ’ 

“ The reason why the Czar .wishes to dispose of this fer- 
tile territory is because he cannot conquer the North 


SITKA : OUR NEW ACQUISITION. 


71 


Pole, that being the only Pole that has escaped his auto- 
cratic fist. It must be said, however, that it affords us 
many fine harbors for our whalers after animal petroleum, 
for heretofore we have had but one decent harbor on the 
Pacific coast, and that is San Francisco. Now we shall 
have plenty of them, if we are lucky enough to find them 
in the fogs which are perpetual there. 

“The principal inhabitants of this vast territory are 
mountains. There is not a tree that will risk its vege- 
table life by attempting to grow there ; the low lands are 
covered with moss instead of grass, and the best kind of 
Russian shred isinglass springs spontaneously from the 
crevices of the rocks. Of the amphibious animals, the 
green seal or moet is most valued there, being highly 
prized by the Japanese ; the Muscovy duck flies about in 
a very wild state in those high latitudes, while the double- 
headed eagle preys alike upon the russ and the walrus. 
Most of the artificial teeth in the United States are made 
from the tusks of this latter animal, so that in future we 
shall get our teeth free of duty. The British having hereto- 
fore had an exclusive treaty with the Russian government 
to supply this place with food and ice-picks, no doubt this 
lucrative branch of commerce fall into our hands. 
There is no doubt a vast quantity of gold hidden under 
the soil, as it has never made its appearance above the 
surface. It is proposed to get up a Russian Crushing 
Company to extract this valuable ore from the veins of 
Mt. St. Elias. Spruce-trees not bigger than a wisp broom. 


72 SITKA : OUR NEW ACQUISITION. 

grow in some patches. These are valuable, as a beer 
is brewed from them, very useful t as a remedy f6r the 
scurvy. The castle at New Archangel is very heavily gar- 
risoned with 50 Calmucs and Cossacks, mounts 24 brass- 
mounted breech-loaders, five seven -pounders, twelve 
horse-pistols, two mountain howitzers, one Governor, one 
Russian flag, two ensigns, and a fast team of Esquimaux 
dogs for flying artillery practice. The diplomatic cor- 
respondence with old Gowrowski, who is the governor of 
the fort, has not been published as yet, as he asserts the 
United States government cannot turn him out without the 
consent of the Senate. The vivid description of this en 
chanting country by Campbell will no doubt recur to the 
reader. Speaking of the hardy sailor on that coast, he 
says : — 

“ * Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 

From wastes that slumber in eternal snow , 

And waft, across the wave’s tumultuous roar, 

The wolf’s long howl from Oonalaska’s shore.’ ” 




XII. 

Pjrases antr jFUims, 

T sometimes happens at the end of a dinner, when 
jokes and walnuts are cracked together, that the 
paternity of some trite quotation is put in question, and 
at once the wit of the whole company is set wool-gather- 
ing. 

The man who writes a single line, 

And hears it often quoted, 

Will in his life time surely shine, 

And be hereafter noted. 

If every printing office had a case filled with popular 
phrases arranged in the manner of types, it would save 
much manual labor, and the compositor would he sur- 
prised to find how often he had occasion to use them. For 
so inextricably are these “short sentences drawn from 
long experience” entangled in the meshes of language, 
that to eliminate them would be like drawing out of a 
carpet the threads that form the pattern. A few of these 
phrases, usually found floating in the currents of ordinary 
conversation, will be sufficient to consider in a paper like 
this: if we were to include those embraced in literature 
"iid oratory, it would require foolscap enough to cover 
he sands of Egypt, and an inkstand as large as one of 


74 


PHRASES AND FILBERTS. 


the pyramids. Not being disposed to make such an in- „ 
vestment in stationery at present, we shall only play the 
literary chiffonier and hook a few scraps from the heaps 
of talk we meet with every day. 

Mr. John Timmins, the broker, says of that stock, 
“there is a wheel within a wheel,” without giving Paradise 
Lost, Xoung’s Night Thoughts, and the Prophet Ezekiel 
credit for a phrase which may have saved him some 
thousands; and when he tells his boon companions 
at the club, that as for his wife, who is rather inclined 
to be extravagant, “ he would deny her nothing ,” he does 
not say how much he owes to Samson Agonistes for the 
words he makes use of. When he reaches his house, 
Mrs. Timmins takes him to task “for coming home at 
such an hour of the night, in such a state to which he 
replies, in a gay and festive manner: “My dear, ‘ To 
ei'r is human — to forgive, divine,' 1 ” from Pope’s essay 
on criticism ; to which Mrs. T. answers in a snappish 
way, “Timmins, 4 there is a medium in all things ’ ” (from 
Horace). Mr. T., disliking the tone in which this quota- 
tion is delivered, “ snatches a fearful joy” (from the 
“Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College”), by saying 
he does not intend, in his house, to have “ the grey mare 
prove the better horse ” (from Prior’s epilogue). This only 
“adds fuel to the flame ” (from Milton’s Samson), and 
Mrs. T. observes that if “we could only see ourselves as 
others see us ” (from Burns), it would be better for some 
people ; that ever since he had joined that club “ a change 
had come o'er the spirit of her dream ” (from Byron) ; 


PHRASES AND FILBERTS. 


75 


that when she trusted her happiness to him she had 
“ leaned upon a broken reed ” (from Young’s Night 
Thoughts III, and Isaiah 36: 6), and winds up a long 
lecture with the reflection that ‘ ‘ evil communications cor- 
rupt good manners ” (from 1st Corinthians 15: 33). This 
last expression exasperates Mr. Timmins, and he asks Mrs. 
T., as he takes ofl* his suspenders, “ to whom she alludes ?” 
Is it to Perkins who had stood by him “in evil report and 
good report?” {2d. Corinthians 6: 8). IsMt to Bapley? 
“ a man take him for all in all ” (Hamlet, Act I, Scene 
Second), is “ after his own heart ” (Acts 13: 22), and as 
for Badger, who had extended to him in the tight times of 
’36 and ’37 “the right hand of fellowship (Galatians 2: 
9), he was as honest a man as ever breathed ; and here 
Mr. Timmins, with one boot in his hand and the other in 
the boot-jack, eloquently adds, “an honest man is the 
noblest work of God!” (from Pope’s Essay). He was 
proud of the friendship of such men, if she meant them. 
Mrs. T., not at all carried away by such a flood of author- 
ities, rather scornfully says, “O Timmins, ‘ what is 
friendship but a name V ” (from Goldsmith’s Hermit) ; at 
which Mr. T., who by this time is undressed, and “as 
7nad as a March hare ” (from the old English superstitiqn), 
puts out the candle “in the twinkling of an eye,” (1st 
Corinthians 15: 52), lies down as far as possible from the 
“ weaker vessel ,” (1st Epistle of Peter 2: 17), courts 
“ tired Nature's sweet restorer , balmy sleep /” (Young’s 
Night Thoughts), and wakes next morning “a sadder 
and a wiser man ” (in Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner). 


76 


PHRASES AND FILBERTS. 


If we turn from the frescoed bed-chamber of Mrs. 
Timmins to the white-washed kitchen of Jim Skiver, the 
shoemaker, we find language not less elevated. Jim 
throws a leg of mutton upon the table and says: “ There, 
Mary, I had 4 to take Hobson's choice' " although Jim had 
neither read the .509tli Spectator, nor knew that Hobson’s 
epitaph had been written by Milton. Jim, not “ having 
the fear of" Beaumont and Fletcher “ before his eyes' ' 
(Romans 3: 18), says, if he can “catch that man wot gave 
Bill Baxter a black eye the day afore his weddin’ he’ll 
‘ lamm ' him”, (King and No King, Act Y, Scene Third). 
To which Mary replies: “I thought somethin’ would 
happin: ‘ the course of true love never did run smooth ,' " 
(Midsummers Night’s Dream, Act I, Scene 1), and Jim 
responds, “ That’s so ; and they’ve put off the weddin’ 
so often that it seems kind o’ ‘hopin' agin' hope ,' " (Ro- 
mans 4: 18). Jim thinks after they’ve had a “snack," 
(Pope and Dryden), they had better go see the Siamese 
Twins ; “ twins tied by nature ; if they part , they die," 
(Young’s Night Thoughts); puts on “a hat not much the 
worse for wear," (John Gilpin), “ dashes through thick 
and thin," (same authority and Hudibras), and after he has 
seen the Siamese, requests to see the “ Lilliputian King'' 
(from Gulliver’s travels). 

How much language would be left us if these estrays 
were returned to their lawful owners, is a question. How 
could we console the dying if we had to give up to Gay’s 
twenty-seventh Fable the phrase, “ while there is life 


PHRASES AND FILBERTS. 


77 


there's hope f ” and what could we say to the good in mis- 
fortune it* we had to restore to Prior’s Ode, “ Virtue is her 
own reward?" The shopkeeper who ends his long list 
of fancy articles with ‘ ‘ and other articles too tedious to 
mention makes use of a sentence as old as the Latin 
language, and we would take the point from Byron’s hit 
at Coleridge, if we were to replace in “ Garrick’s Epilogue 
on Leaving the Stage,” “ a fellow-feeling makes us wond- 
rous kind," So, too, must Goldsmith’s Hermit lose “ man 
wants but little here below ,” if Young’s Night Thought, 
IV, had its own property: and “ all the jargon of the 
schools from Burns’ 1st epistle to J. Lapraik must be 
rendered up to Prior’s “Ode on Exodus,” which has a 
prior claim to it. Mr. Achitophel Scapegrace thinks the 
biggest stockholders in the Roaring River Canal Co. will 
have the best chance, as “ all the big fish will eat up the 
little ones ” (Pericles, Prince of Tyre, Act II, Scene First), 
and Mr. Bombastes Linderwold talks of a “platform" in 
precisely the same sense as Cromwell did two hundred* 
years ago (Queries in Letter 97, Carlyle). It is in Crom- 
well’s seventh letter that we find for the first time that 
apt conjunction, “ a gentleman and a Christian," now 
somewhat threadbare from misuse, and if we want 
“ mother-wit," we must look for it in Spenser’s “ Faerie 
Queen,” Book IV, Canto X, verse 21. Everybody has 
seen the man in Greek costume who sells soap by the ball, 
but nobody but Mr. Leviticus Gaylord suggested, “that 
if another Greek should meet that Greek then would be 


78 


PHRASES AND FILBERTS. 


a tug of war,” and he has authority for saying so in the 
Rival Queens, Act IY, Scene First. We have to go 
back to Thomas a Kempis for “ man proposes but God 
disposes /” but “ what if thou withdraw and no friend 
takes note of thy departure ?” was written by a young man 
only eighteen years of age nearly fifty years ago.* If 
we want to look up ‘ 4 the solemn brood of care,” we can 
find that, “ and each one , as before , will chase his favorite 
phantom,” in Thanatopsis. There, too, we will see the hills 
“rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,” but “ old as the 
hills” is older than the “ oldest inhabitant,” and like him, 
has lost its parent. If we need “ to point a moral and 
adorn a tale,” we must get Dr. Johnson’s “Vanity of 
Human Wishes,” and “he that runs may read,” in 
Cowper’s “Tirocinium,” and “he may run that readeth 
it,” in Habakuk 2: 2. If any person wish to “ consume 
the midnight oil,” let him read Gay’s Shepherd and Phi- 
losopher, and in Congreve’s “Mourning Bride” he will 
4 find “music hath charms to soothe a savage breast.” “To 
be in the wrong box,” will occur to him who has dipped 
into the sixth book of “Fox’s Martyrs,” and Napoleon 
found “that from the sublime to the ridiculous there is 
but one step,” in Tom Paine’s works translated and pub- 
lished in France, in 1791. We take “ buds of promise,” 
from Young’s “Last Day,” “ and men talk only to con- 
ceal their mind,” from his “Love of Fame,” although 
we attribute the thought to Talleyrand. “Good breeding 


Bryant. 


PHRASES AND FILBERTS. 


79 


is the blossom of good sense,” is not quite so familiar, but 
it is also in the “Love of Fame,” from whence we get 
the original of what Matilda Jane Peabody believes when 
she ties up her hair before the looking glass and says that 
“Louisa Perkins and Betsey Baker can’t hold a candle to 
her.” “ To hold their farthing candle to the sun” is in 
her mind, or its equivalent. “ Who shall decide when 
doctors disagree ?” is a question we may well ask between 
the Allopathists and the Homoeopathists, and Pope puts it 
in his “Fourth Moral Essay.” In “Lochiel’s Warning” 
we find ‘ 4 coming events cast their shadows before .” So 
Tim Taffeta thinks as he sees the shade deepen upon the 
brows of his creditor. So Dr. Senna thinks as he sees the 
premonitory symptoms of coming apoplexy in the fair 
round proportions of Alderman Broadbutton, and so 
thinks Ffeter Pipkin as the delicate adumbration is visible 
in Mrs. Pipkin’s “ nature’s last best gift ” (Paradise Lost, 
Book 5, line 19), who finds herself “ as women wish to 
be who love their lords ” (Douglass, Act I., Scene First), 
“ not wisely, but too well ” (Othello, Act V, Scene Last). 
It is impossible to see the Pavels on the tiglit-rope with- 
out thinking of “ the light fantastic toe,” and L’ Allegro; 
and “ thoughts that breath and words that burn,” live in 
the magic atmosphere that surrounds the orator, as well 
as in 44 Gray’s Progress of Poesy.” To make a "complete 
collection of these phrases would be the labor of a life ; 
so numerous are they, that if the door is once opened, 
they pour in “thick as the leaves in Valambrosa ” (Para* 


80 


PHRASES AND FILBERTS. 


dise Lost, Book I, line 303) ; and although the 44 labor of 
love ” (Hebrews 6: 10), might entertain the scholar, yet if 
he were to cast these pearls before an undiscriminating 
multitude, after he 44 had borne the burden and heat of 
the day ” (Mathew 20: 12), his only recompense would be 
that he had made every one as wise as himself, which the 
true scholar cannot abide. 44 Brevity is the soul of wit ” 
(Hamlet, Act II, Scene Second), and we must make our 
discourse 44 fine by degrees and beautifully less ” (Prior’s 
Henry and Emma). These sentences — 4 ‘jewels, five words 
long that on the stretched forefinger of old Time sparkle 
forever ” (Tennyson’s Princess), are not to be scattered 
with too liberal a hand, and, therefore, we shall conclude 
with a quotation peculiarly appropriate: 4 4 Forsake not 
AN OLD FRIEND: WHEN WINE IS OLD, THOU SHALT DRINK 
WITH PLEASURE.” Ecc). 0: 10, 


XIII. 


©aes (Queen Utctoria 3peafe JBnglisf) ? 

r friend John Common of Roscommon Bay, 
middle inlet, third house on the left hand side 
going up, where there is good anchorage for a yacht of 
several tons burden, propounded the above question one 
day, after a yawning stretch over the briny hay in a brisk 
breeze, followed by the usual dead calm, when in sight 
of home. 

“ Does Queen Victoria speak English?” 

“ Surely, John Common of Roscommon, she speaks 
her own Queen's English, and that is the purest language 
the Court of St. James has heard since the days of Edward 
the Confessor.” 

John Common of Roscommon lazily puffed his cigar 
under the canvas canopy of the summer sail, knocked off 
the ashes with the tip of his little finger, drew a fresh 
whiff of inspiration from his little brown deity, and said, 
in a soft voice of rebuke: — 

“ I know very well that her Majesty is a pure, high- 
minded, pious, good woman ; but my inquiry related not 
6 



82 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH? 

to her morals, hut to her language; to her vocabulary, 
if you will, which is the vocabulary of the realm ; the 
court language, the language of polite society ; — in fact, 
that arbitrary style of speaking which is commonly known 
as the Queen’s English, the mother tongue of British 
scholars, statesmen, and of the highly educated classes of 
that country ; and that is what I meant. I have a theory 
of my own upon that subject,” he continued, “ and I merely 
asked the question of you in order that I might have an 
opportunity to answer it myself.” 

“ A theory ! a theory ! ” cried out several voices from 
the cabin of the' yacht, where the clinking of ice had been 
heard for several minutes, and out came the party. John 
Littlejohn, and William Williamson, and Peter Peterson, 
and Sandy Sanderson, and several others. They arranged 
themselves on the seats under the shadow of the sail, 
cigars were handed around; it was a dead calm on the 
bay, and so John Common of Roscommon began : — 

M I have never yet heard an Englishman speak, who 
pretended to use the Queen’s vernacular, without tracing 
in his language a vein of cockney running in it, like a gold 
thread through a velvet cloth. And this quite as plain 
and distinct among the highly educated, as among the 
rest of her Majesty’s subjects. 

“ I maintain that custom does not sanction the misuse 
of the eighth letter, or as Rare Ben Johnson quotes it, 
‘ the queen mother of consonants,’ although it may excuse 
it. Certainly, when we consider the matter fairly, we 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 83 


must conclude that there is as much impropriety in sub- 
stituting for the beautiful Greek female name 4 Helen’ the 
modern English name of 4 Ellenf as there would be in 
calling 6 Emma’ 4 Hemma,’ which the Court of St. James 
will very speedily do, unless a stop is put to further in- 
novation. 

44 In citing the name of 4 Helen,’ for so unquestionably 
the Hellenes pronounce it, I had a further object in view, 
and that was to follow up the stream of cockneyism to its 
classical fountain. The Greeks were probably the original 
cockneys — at least we can trace the spiritus asper and the 
spiritus lenis to them. There might have been still earl- 
ier cockneys, and it is not unreasonable to suppose that 
in the confusion of tongues at the destruction of the Tower 
of Babel, that the family of Hs might have first adopted 
the unsettled and wandering mode of life which they have 
led elsewhere, and ai;e now leading in the English lan- 
guage ; but so far as that is concerned, it is mere conjec- 
ture, and, therefore, very likely to mislead us in our 
course of inquiry after truth.” 

Then he continued: — 

44 It is quite easy to follow the current down after strik- 
ing the parent spring. In the time of Bomulus and Remus 
no doubt the original Latin was a pure sonorous language, 
a little barbarous, to be sure, but stuck as full of H’s as 
the cloves in old-fashioned boiled ham (and a rich dish that 
would be now, with the present tax on spices); but as the 
Romans waxed opulent, gave up wars and patriotism, and 


84 DOES QUEEN VICTOKIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? . 

began to cultivate arts and lassitude, the introduction of 
schools prepared the way for the Greek accent ; it became 
the rage to imitate the style of Athens, as well in its ora- 
tory as in its sculpture and in its architecture ; and when 
Cicero spoke in the affected and voluptuous diction of 
Alcibiades, and Caesar fell at the foot of a marble image, 
then the decadence of Empire began. 

“The languages, of which the Latin was the primitive 
stem, such as the Italian, the Spanish, the Portuguese, 
and the French, easily adopted the accent of Rome when 
Rome was in its decay. These modern languages cast 
off their £Ts, and to this day the French Academy, the 
Spanish Academy, the Universities of Padua and of 
Parma have never been able to recall them. In the lan- 
guage of a Spanish lexicographer, 4 II is not properly 
considered as a letter, but as a mere aspiration.’ The 
Spanish Academy has also banished the hard sound of the 
h in chimico , chimera , chamelote , etc., by writing instead, 
quimico, quimera , camelote. So that the eighth letter is 
torn up root and branch, in the Kingdom of Isabella the 
Catholic, and the consequence is that they have a revolu- 
tion iii Spain every six years.- In a short time Cuba will 
be on a detached service. It is significant that the natives 
of the Siempre Fiel pronounce ‘ Habana’ with enough 
ejaculation of breath upon the first letter to blow a Span- 
ish fleet from its anchorage. 

“But to return to the Queen’s English. Before the 
Norman Conquest England had a language of its own 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH? 85 

not Saxon altogether, but English ! that great, pithy, 
thoughtful, bold, full-fraughted, mother tongue, which 
even now constitutes the substance and strength of the 
highest powers of intellectual expression ; not to be ex- 
celled in any language. I might almost say not to be 
matched by any foreign idiom. 

“I am speaking now of the pure English, that is 
spoken only by educated people in Now York city and 
its immediate vicinity. 

“No person who wishes to attain a lofty style can safely 
depart from the good old English idiom. It is to glowing 
eloquence and sparkling rhetoric, what a blacksmith’s 
bellows is to a forge. 

“ This language, notwithstanding it was so splendidly 
celebrated by old Thomas Churchyard (Tempus Henry 
VII), had unfortunately been corrupted long before his 
time by the Normans. William Conqueror introduced a 
court cockney dialect, which had descended from the 
Greek cockneys to the Roman cockneys, from the Roman 
cockneys to every branch of the Latin family, and from 
the derivatory Norman French it spread through to White- 
chapel and Threadneedle streets, through Windsor and 
Buckingham Palaces, and from thence to the, hearts and 
homes of an imitative people. Thus it was that the fam- 
ily of H’s were banished from their own indigenous soil. 

“ That is the history of it, or chronicle, or what you 
will. All that I wish to say is, that we can trace the 
Greek taint down to the present time. 


86 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH? 

“Now, then, for examples. There is old Geoffrey 
Chancer (commonly known among the wooden spoons 
of Boston as Daniel Chancer), he is full of defiled Eng- 
lish. In the Nonnes’ Priest’s Tale, we have ‘ habundant ’ 
for abundant ; * and for hexameter he uses this outrage- 
ous substitute: — 

“ ‘And they ben versified commonly 
Of six feet, which men clepen 'exametron,' f 

For Dante’s ‘Ugolino’ he substitutes ‘ Hugelin? f He 
even clips the French itself by striking an h off a French 
clock, and naming Horloge, ‘ orlogej § and so through all 
his works. Can subserviency to the ruling powers farther 

go ? ' . 

“ But every innovation has its reaction. The common 
people of England, in those early days, seeing that their 
beloved H’s were being knocked off the household words, 
like the noses from the Elgin marbles, revenged them- 
selves by clapping an Hin front of every naked and exposed 
vowel. The consequence is that we have such words as 
4 hedge! for edge, 4 halV for all, ‘ hogshead ’ for oxhead, 
and the like. It would be too much of a task to cite all 
the corruptions of a similar nature in the language. The 
mere mention of these will suggest swarms of others, 
familiar to every reader of ordinary books, to .say nothing 
of philologists. 


Tyrwhitt Ed. page 129. f Ibid, 127. t Ibid, 12l< § Ibid, 128. 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH? 87 


“Take the word ‘hedge’ for example. Originally it 
meant something. It meant an edge, a boundary of 
shrubs, indicating the limit of the ’field or of the estate. 
We have it yet in ‘ box edgings,’ which are partitions of 
garden beds, and meaning the same thing precisely. 
Shakspeare says, ‘Upon the edge of yonder coppice,’ 
etc. (Loves Labor Lost, IY, I). Now it has lost its sig- 
nificance in becoming a h’edge. 

“ So with the word ‘ hear .’ We speak of hearing an 
argument. That would be considered as proper Queen’s 
English, would it not ? But suppose any one should say 
that he had been ‘ Keying ’ a street fight ? W ould that 
not be a painful sound to ears polite ? And yet both 
words are derived from their original substantives, the 
ear and the eye, and the verb to ‘hear* is as plain a cock- 
neyism as the verb to ‘ heye,’ when we come to think of it 
You say an ‘ ear-witness’ as well as an * eye-witness,’ do 
you not? If anybody should say an ‘hear-witness,’ 
what would you think of that? And yet it is no greater 
an impropriety than ‘ hear’ is in the mouths of polite 
people. No one can for a moment doubt that according 
to the mechanism of the language, ‘ to ear' a person is 
quite as proper a form of expression as ‘ to eye a person,’ 
and that the H in ‘ hear’ is an insupportable cockneyism. 
So with the superfluous ‘ H’ in ‘hall.’ In old mansions 
in England, the main apartments, the great audience 
chamber, the dining-room, the vast conservatory where 
the noble guests sat above the salt, where the pilgrim, 


88 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 


warmed his rain-drenched, threadbare garments by the 
fire ; where the minstrel tuned his wretched harp, and 
every condition of life was represented, in this vast vault- 
ed chamber, the ‘ aula ,’ the atrium, the all in all of the 
manorial and baronial residence, what right had an II to 
strike out the significance of the original word ? There 
is no doubt in this case at all. For the ‘ Manor All,’ the 
‘ Town All,’ and so on in ail the grand old English words, 
must be replaced. If you have a little, narrow strait be- 
tween your parlor and your side wall, call it an. entry, if 
you will, but do not call it a h’all. 

“ So with the bird of wisdom, the owl. Everybody 
has heard her note who has lived in the country. It is 
‘ how, how, how, how, howl !’ From this we get the name 
of this fowl of Minerva. The bird of night, in the new- 
born nakedness of early English, was undoubtedly the 
‘Howl.’ We fftid it still in its diminutives, such as 
‘ Howlet.’ 

‘And keep her place as ‘ Howlet ’ does her tower.’ * 

In the Scotch vocabularies Houlet is the word, not owl. 
And, by the way, none of these French cockneyisms 
appear in either the Scottish or Irish dialects. I believe 
their idiomatic languages to be purer than the modern 
English! Shakspeare does not have any allusion to cock- 
neyism in his time, except when he shows his knowledge 
of the Greek language in his Athenian play, by putting in- 
to the mouth of Bottom the Weaver 'JSrclesior Hercules.* 

* Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act I, Scene Second. 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH \ 89 

“But it is needless to multiply examples. Some 
vacancy should be left in the mind of the listener, which 
he can fill up himself at leisure. Let me say here, how- 
ever, that, save Chaucer, there are few writers of our 
earlier English who so Frenchify the mother tongue as 
he does. In Piers Ploughman * we have hem for them, 
and hire for their. In Robert of Gloster f we find ‘ hit’ 
used for ‘it,’ as it is in the Lord’s Prayer of Richard the 
Hermit, and so it is used to this day by some of the Eng- 
lish, even in writing. But generally the language of these 
old authors was pure, as indeed it was from the time of 
Chaucer to the Restoration. After King Charles II came 
in, we had the French affectation introduced, as lively 
as it was in the days of William the Conqueror. 

“Now a few words more: there is the word ‘hatchet,’ 
the diminutive of axe, the original of which is eax , Saxon, 
(or ascia , Latin). It should of course be atchet. So we 
have hatchment, a corruption of the heraldric word 
‘ achievement ,’ meaning an armorial escutcheon ; then 
there is the word ability, which, in the dictionaries of a 
century old, is spelled properly, ‘ hability ,’ or able — 
k hablej from the French ; arquebus, we say, instead of 
harquebus , and artichoke instead of hartichoke , and the 
like. 

“Then, again, consider the number of words from 
which the II is omitted in pronunciation: ’onorable, ’um- 


* “ 1362,” or Circa. t Terapus Richard II, 1174. 1208. 


90 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 

ble, ’umor, ’eir, ’ome, sweet ’ome, ’ow, ’onest, and the 
like. Then, again, such words as ’ostler for hostler (from 
host or hostel), ’arbor for harbor (a shelter), Oboe for 
hant bois, and so on, where the abuse is sanctioned by 
the dictionary makers. 

“You will commonly find, too, that well-educated 
Englishmen (and women) say ’oo, for who, ’andiron for 
hand’iron, ’ow for how, and ’anging for hanging. They 
deny .it, of course, and will, if they think they are watch- 
ed, pronounce these words properly, but they are sure to 
relapse as soon as they are left to themselves. If you 
were to ask Lord John Russell, who is esteemed to be as 
deep in erudition as he is in diplomacy, how to spell the 
letter H, he would, no doubt, spell it a-i-t-c-h, when in 
truth it should be k-aA-t-c-h , with a strong aspiration on 
the first letter.” 


Chapter II. 


“ ®ocs <&ueeit Utrtoria gpeafc JSngltsij?" 



?0 continue,” said John Common of Roscom- 
mon. “To leave this class of impediments 
of speech behind, and go further, we find many defects in 
modern English, derived from the same parentage. For 
example — there is no IF in the French alphabet. If you 
were to ask a Frenchman to pronounce the name of the 
first President of the United States, he would say “ Yash- 
ington,” or he might, by a strong mental effort, get as 
near to it as Guashington . Just as if’ you were to ask him 
the name of the second President, he would be obliged to 
reply “ Hadams” and so forth. Now there is not one 
single word in the English language beginning with the 
letter Y that is not derived from the French, the Spanish, 
the Italian, or some of the cognate branches of the Latin 
family of words. There is no Y in the Anglo-Saxon 
alphabet, none in the Mceso-Gothic, from which two 
tongues we derive our mother tongue, none in the earlier 
editions of English authors; take, for example, Grafton’s 
or Holingshed’s Chronicles, or any other work of that 


92 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH? 

period. Hence it is that we find such expressions in the 
modern British classics as: “ Now, Shiny Villiam, g ive 
the gen’lem’n the ribbons,” * “ veil vot of it,” f or “votfs 
the use of giving vay so long as you’re ’appy ;” of which 
forms of expression numbers could be produced if one 
could give his mind, his time, and his attention to it. I 
do not mean to say that the substitution of the V for the 
W is common to the upper classes of Great Britain. Far 
from it'; but I do mean to say that this innovation is 
creeping up, and will, by and by, beget a class of words 
foreign to the genius of the English tongue, just as the 
dropping of the H has produced such words as ostler and 
arbor. 

In confirmation of this, let me state that a distinguished 
traveler and philosopher, Mr. George Gibbs, of Long 
Island, after a residence of a quarter of a century on the 
Northwest coast of this continent, has written a dictionary 
of the Chinook jargon, or Trade Language of Oregon, pre- 
pared for the Smithsonian Institute, Washington, D. C.,t 
in which he shows conclusively that the Chinook, the 
Nootkan, the Yakama, the Cathlasco (which is a cor- 
rupted form of the Watlala or Upper Chinook), the 
Toquat (which he spells Tokwaht), and the Nittinak lan- 
guages have been corrupted by the mis-pronunciation of 
the English of the Hudson’s Bay Company. The conse- 
quence is, that there is scarcely an H in its proper place 

* Pickwick Club, Ed. 1836, Vol. I, p. 95. 

t The Golden Farmer, a play, in three acts ; author unknown, 1835. 

} Ed. 1868, 8vo. p. 44. 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 93 

in any of the dialects of the Northwestern tribes of the 
Pacific, and W’s are substituted for Y’s to such an extent, 
that in his dictionary not one word beginning with the 
latter consonant can be discovered. It is, however, a 
consolation to know that these are the most prominent 
innovations in those rich and beautiful occidental 
tongues. After complaining that the Spanish and French 
voyageurs have left traces of their languages in the earlier 
Chinook, he says : 

“It might have been expected, from the number of 
Sandwich Islanders introduced by the Hudson’s Bay 
Company, that the Kanaka element would have found its 
way into the language, but their utterance is so foreign to 
an Indian ear , that not a word has been adopted.” * 

If this be so, we can imagine what a highly respectable 
tone prevails in the Kanaka society of Queen Emma. 

But to return. The substitution of the French “F” 
for the English “IF” led to the retaliatory process, by 
which every free born Englishman makes all things 
hequal. Just in proportion to the cockneyism of the 
upper classes in the middle ages arose the defiant attitude 
of the cockneyism of the lower classes. The doubleyous 
began to crow T d into the lower ten .million vocabulary.. 
“IFeal pie” took the place of the other word: — 

“ Even the tailors ’gan to brag, 

And embroidered on their flag, 

‘Aut Wincere aut Mori.’ ” t 

*<Gibbs’ Dictionary of the Chinook Jargon, Ed. 1863, p. viii, (Pre- 
face). 

f Thackeray’s Ballads, Ed. 1856, p. 121. 


94 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 

There was a stout battle between the starveling French 
V and the broad bottomed English W, and to this day it 
has continued. There is not a member of any English 
legation in any part of the world, at this present time, 
who dares to spell “Vaterloo” with a Y. And this is in 
obedience to the dictates of the lower, and, I might 
almost say, the illiterate classes ; for after all, a mob has 
a great deal to do with fixing the expression as well as 
the meaning of words. 

Since I am so far committed to this subject, I must 
continue a little longer ; but let me say here, that if I tax 
the old nation from which we are derived, with speaking 
a very impure language, let me at least have the credit 
of doing so in a friendly spirit. Let us with one hand 
soothe the American Lexicographical Eagle, while with 
the other we smooth the bristling mane of the British 
Polyglot. 

In further confirmation of what I have already advanced, 
permit me to recall to every mind another phrase of the 
language of the realm, in order to prove that the queen 
speaks broken French. I do not mean to say that she 
does so intentionally, for surely no one can have a higher 
regard for that good lady than I have. In fact, we are 
both of an age ; both born on the same day of the same 
month in the same year, perhaps in -the same hour, if 
degrees of longitude could be computed with accuracy 
(of different parentage, I admit). What I mean to say 
is, that she speaks imperfect English, both of herself and 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 95 

through her ministers, through her parliaments, through 
her lords and her lord mayors, through her ladies and her 
laundresses, through her British museum, and her Billings- 
gate market. After all this explanation, which might lead 
to a digression, let me return to the point that I intended 
to make when I said that the queen speaks broken 
French. 

Nothing is more striking to an American when he first 
visits London than the constant misuse of the French 
“A.” pronounced aw by the high school of cockneys. 
The lower classes of her majesty’s subjects use the plain 
old fashioned English “A” as an expletive, as well as an 
offset to the other (a fashion, by the way, derived from 
the Greeks, for their language is full of expletives), in 
this manner — I was “ a-going” or, I was “ a-thinking,” 
or, I was u a-’oping,” or, I was “ a-hironing,” and so on 
through the whole family of verbs. Now this misuse of 
the vowel is so common to the common people, that to 
hear it from the lips of any person is sufficient to suggest 
that his education has been quite imperfect. This being 
so, is it quite fair that we should acquit Lord Brobdignag 
of a similar charge, when we hear him read from a master 
of style, thus: “They sa y-aw that it was aw-Liston’s firm 
belief, that he-aw was aw-great and neglected tragic ac- 
taw. They say-aw that ev-aw-ry one of us believes, in 
his heart, or would like-aw to have others believe, that 
he-aw is something which he is aw-not ! ” 

It is very true, as Dr. Samuel Johnson says in his little 


96 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH? 

article on Orpiment, that “ talk is elastic.” But even talk 
he mis-spells (for he means “talc” a mineral), neverthe- 
less we will accept the mistake as being truer than his 
definition in every way. Talk is elastic ! but what shall 
be said of the petrifiers of the living words of our lan- 
guage ? What shall we say, for example, of the abuses 
of Webster’s Dictionary ? When an elastic language 
becomes a concretion of fossils — when its life has gone 
out, and lexicographers have left nothing of it but its 
organic remains — what should be done with them ? To 
compel them to speak plain English would be impossible, 
for that they do not comprehend. What should be done 
with them ? - Surely the Cadmus teeth they sow should 
rise up and reap them. 

I suppose, in time, that the good old English word 
“Beef-eater,” as applied to those broad-backed warders 
of the Tower of London, will degenerate into “ Buffetier ” 
(French), as now a revolution is being effected in a simi- 
lar word — and “cur” which some writers claim as a 
Hindoo word, “ Ischur” * Blackstone (a famous law 
writer of the last century), has endeavored to elevate the 
tone of the British bar by changing the honest old name 
of “bum-bailey” in this wise: He says “ that the special 
bailiffs are usually bound in a bond for the due execution 
of their office, and thence are called ‘bound-bailiffs,’ 


Dictionary of Cant and Slang. London. Ed. 1860, p. 11. 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 97 


which the common people have corrupted into a much 
more homely appellation , burn-bailey ! ” * 

I cannot here avoid expressing my regret that a very 
creditable weekly paper in the British booksellers’ interest 
in London should have its classical name corrupted into 
“a much more homely appellation.” I mention this the 
more cheerfully from the fact that it has always abused 
American authors, and, therefore, when I say that I regret 
it, you will understand that it is an act of generosity on 
my part. I allude to the Athenaeum , which has never 
recovered' from the punishment that Bulwer inflicted 
upon it when he called it the “Ass-i-neum,” a name by 
which it has been known to cultivated people in all parts 
of the world, from the days of Paul Clifford down to this 
tune. 

But these corruptions of the language we must frown 
down. Let us take a bold stand against other cockney- 
isms creeping into public use, such as “cab” for cabriolet, 
“pants” for pantaloons, “canter” from the Canterbury 
pilgrimages at the good old-fashioned ambling pace, and 
the like ; for, if we do not, the age of progress will make 
the word “gentleman” a dead language, and only its 
cockney substitute, the “gent” will be known in diction- 
aries and newspapers. 

A few more words and I shall wind up my squid. 

There is a slang phrase of Parisian-French, which I 

* Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of England. 4to. Ox- 
ford, 1766. Book L, Chap. IX., p. 346 


98 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 


cannot recall at this moment, that expresses a peculiar 
way of shortening words, and running one into another, 
in use among the fashionable people of the continental 
metropolis, so that it is very difficult for a novice to un- 
derstand their aristocratic argot . 

This shrinkage, this corrugation, this wrinkling up of 
words, so that a good long sentence which should he 
sonorous and expressive, becomes as shriveled as a washer- 
woman’s thumb, is beautifully implanted in the modern 
English. Go to the House of Lords and hear the debate 
between Lord Brobdignag and the Marquis of Lilliput ! 
Only by the skill of the practiced reporter can that tongued 
and grooved dialect be interpreted. I shall not give you 
a sentence by way of example, but only a few specimen 
bricks of this modern Babel. 

It is well known that in the glorious old English 
tongue every word carries a meaning with it, a little 
history in its womb, such as those beautiful phrases 
“belly-timber,” as applied to food, and “bread-basket,” 
as applied to its receptacle. So the lord of thousands of 
broad acres in Merrie England — 

“Lovely in England’s fadeless green.” — Halleck — 

was called the Earl of “Beau-champs” from the Norman 
French, as in Scotland the name of Campbell is derived 
from an Italian origin meaning the same thing as Beau- 
champs, “Campo-bello.” Just as the constellation in the 
Southern hemisphere called “Charles’ Oak,” recalls the 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 99 


history of that royal and ragged refugee, in Boscobell, so 
a vast number of words in English once represented ideas. 
They were words with poetry and history locked up within 
them, like flies, in perpetual amber. The river “Alne” 
in Cumberland, the stream celebrated in many a border 
foray, has upon its banks the ancient town of Alnecester, 
and the “home of the Percy’s high-born race,” Alnwick 
Castle. Should you inquire for either place, there is not 
a man in England who would understand you. But just 
ask for Anster and Annick, and there is not a red-coated 
boot-brushing boy in the neighborhood of Temple Bar 
that cannot tell you where to find the train that will carry 
you to the residence of the Lord’s of Northumberland. I 
remember once that I hired a post and pair to go down to 
Stratford-upon-Avon. A jaunty postilion in spotless, white 
dimity knee breeches, white top boots, silver-rimmed hat- 
band, and a whole carillon of bell buttons on his jacket, 
touched his hat as I stepped into the “ shay.” “Drive me 
round,” said I, “by the way of Charlecote Hall!” for 1 
wished to see the place where Shakspeare was tried for 
deer-stealing. That was a puzzler. The friendly landlord 
of the “ Warwick Arms,” the aged pensioner of the Bear 
and Bagged Staff; the obsequious waiter; the radical 
tailor, who made red riding coats for fox-hunting squires 

and d d them in the bitterness of his sartorial soul ; 

the small boy that always followed a stranger as the mite- 
fly follows a cheese ; the parochial beadle with his bell ; 
the blue eyes of the chambermaid, from an upper story 


100 DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 


of tlie Warwick Arms; all, in dire suspense, in that dewy 
morning, waited to hear the reply of the post-boy. There 
was no reply. Presently an underhostler, who had been 
hovering around the horses like a spiritual gad-fly, whose 
wings were horse-brush and curry-comb,, spoke out in a 
foggy voice: “P’raps the gemman means Chawcut ?” 
Shade of Shakspeare ! And chawcut it was, as everybody 
understood it there. So it is that in this puckered-up 
English, — Warwick, itself a splendidly significant name, 
becomes Waric. The Beauchamp Chapel is Beecham. 
Charlesbury has lost it§ ancient significance in Chawbree. 
Cholmondely is Chumlee. Berwick of old renown, 
“ royal Berwick’s beach of sand,” is now Berric; Candle- 
wick Street in London, is Cannick ; Gloucester is Gloster, 
Smithfield is Smiffld, and Worcester — Wooster ! So, too, 
that word dear to every domestic tie, “housewife,” is 
“ hussif J” subtle is “ suttle ,” and High Holburn, I-oburn . 

Can anybody doubt that the corruption of these good 
old expressive English words into bastard French is not 
undermining the Queen’s English? 

And the mis-spelling of these and many other words 
will soon follow the mis-pronunciation, as, indeed, some 
do now — witness “Gloster!” I once hired an English 
hackman to take me from a once-celebrated hotel in New 
York to a once-celebrated Hudson river steamboat. It 
chanced that when we reached the wharf the boat was 
casting off, and the driver called out to me, “You ’ad 
better ’.urry up, sir, or she’ll be h’off, and you can pay me 


DOES QUEEN VICTORIA SPEAK ENGLISH ? 101 


the fare when you get ’ome agin.” So when I did get 
back again, and asked for my little account, he referred 
to his pocket remembrancer — “Mr. C., June 14th, 1842. 
m. o. to e. u .”’ “What does that mean?” “’Merican 
’Otel to ’Endripk ’Udson, sir I” 

“And what,” said little Tweedle, “are we to do. If 
we go to England, are we to fly in the face of every man 
there ? are we to insist upon our own pronunciation, and 
endeavor to find out famous localities by naming them in 
the language used in the Saxon Heptarchy ?” 

“Certainly,” said John Common of Roscommon, “I 
would advise you to agitate this subject ; to call things by 
their right names in that benighted kingdom ; to inquire 
for places that nobody can tell you anything about, so 
that you can teach the ignorant natives what should be the 
names of their choicest, their dearest, their most cherished 
localities. You can do this thing, for you have a genius 
for disturbing the old herring-bone foundations of ancient 
edifices. And I will give you all the glory of being the 
pioneer, if you choose to take this matter of reform of 
the tongue upon your own shoulders. I may adopt it 
also. But I shall not trumpet forth my claims upon the 
world until I find that you have succeeded. I think I 
feel a fresh breeze creeping up. Haul away on the jib 
halyards ! Let us see if we can’t work up the creek. 
The champagne has been in the cooler over there for five 
hours now and the meats only go to the brander upon 
signal. So haul up the dinner signal ! Ah, here comes 
the breeze ! Up sails, and now to dinner.” 


XIV. 


®ij t JSosts of (Eminent JKlen. 

11) all the quadrupeds, the elephant is, unquestion- 
(UH) ably, the most sagacious. And, although some 
have fondly imagined that his sagacity is wholly owing 
to his great bulk — -just as we are apt to think wisdom is 
peculiar to the fat, or judgment to the thickset — yet, in 
justice to the elephant, we must not allow the world to 
repose upon so absurd and preposterous an error. If 
mere bulk were wisdom, what shall be said of the hippo- 
potamus ; of coroners, and aldermen ; of justices of the 
peace, the rhinoceros, and the commissioners of the Patent- 
office; of prize-medal pigs, and Gen. — ? We see, at 
once, the fallacy of the popular belief, when we consider 
the very opposite relations existing between bulk and wis- 
dom, in the above examples. It is needless here to enter 
into an elaborate detail of the sympathetic attachments 
of the brain and the nose, extending through an infinite 
ramification of nerves, arteries, ganglions, and tissues, 
nor of the power of the organ itself to express emotion ; 
to scorn, to sneer, to snivel, to affirm, or deny ; to put itself 
intrusively where it is not wanted; to be arrogant, haughty, 
conceited : to suffer indignities ; to be a sleeping-trumpet, 


THE NOSES OF EMINENT MEN. 


103 


and a moral, psalm-singing instrument in the conventicle. 
The relations between the brain and this organ, are, there- 
fore, nearly equivalent to those between a ship and its 
rudder — with the trifling difference, that we are guided by 
one, and led by the other. These facts being established, 
all that is required to be known further, is, whether the 
dimensions of a nose being given, it is possible to arrive 
at a fair estimate of the subsidiary mental power, if not, 
indeed, at a regular scale, such as Kepler has laid down 
with regard to the planetary system. To this we answer 
in the affirmative. Let us take the wisest of brutes as an 
instance. The height of the tallest elephant in the jun- 
gles of Africa is ten feet and a half, and the length of his 
proboscis, from the lower suture of the coronal bone (os 
frontis), to the tip, is exactly seven feet and. an inch. 
Now, if we add to the height of the elephant his weight 
and circumference, we find the proportion of the organ 
to the sum total to be exactly 19 11-60 per centum. If. 
we take, as an offset to this, the commonest and most 
familiar zoological example, viz., the proportions exist- 
ing between the weight, height, and bulk of the hippo- 
potamus, and the length of his nose, we find them ex- 
pressed in round numbers by the fractions 132-33900. 
And it is a curious scientific fact, that the mental capaci- 
ties of the two animals — I mean the power of mind — the 
“ think” that is in them, when carefully measured, Exhibit 
nearly, the same figures. If, then, guided by these as- 
tonishing results, we take up any plethoric body of men — 
say the United States Congress, or the State Legislature,. 


104 


THE NOSES OF EMINENT MEN. 


for instance — it is very easy to determine precisely their 
intellectual value, in a psychological point of view. The 
average of a hoard of aldermen, reduced to the scale of 
half an inch to the foot, exhibits so near an approxima- 
tion to the proportions of the lesser animal, that we might 
call them the “ city hippopotami”, and be accurate enough 
for ordinary purposes. On the other hand, if we attend 
a meeting of strong-minded women, we find a prodigious 
development of this feature. Strong-minded women have 
immense noses, with some flat hats and a variety of spec- 
tacles. Jews, also, are singularly gifted ; but we make al- 
lowance of at least one-third for organs of this pattern, on 
account of the natural hook, from the eyebrows to the tip. 
We once had the honor of being intimate with one of the 
most profound scholars and thinkers in Holland, who was 
so long-nosed and near-sighted that he wiped out with his 
nose halt* of what he wrote with his pen — thereby show- 
ing a memorable instance of wisdom. The average 
length of a fully-developed, intellectual, male nose, is 
precisely two inches and a half from the indention be- 
tween the eyes to the extreme end of the cartilage. 
Washington's nose was 2 5-8 inches ; but the presidential 
average has, so far, been what we have stated above — • 
Jefferson, for example, representing the longs, and Fill- 
more the .shorts. Wellington and Napoleon differ only 
the sixteenth of an inch, both being above the average ; 
Lord Brougham, who is an encyclopaedia of general in- 
formation, follows a feature three inches in length ! the 
average nose of the Century Club is 2 9-16 ; Thackeray’s 


% 

. THE HOSES OJF EMINENT MEN. 105 

nose is 2 5-8 — precisely the length of the nose of the 
“Father of his country ;” President Johnson’s is 2 9-16 ; 
Irving’s, 2 7-12 ; Bryant’s, 2 6-11; Dickens’s, 2 3-8 ; Du- 
rand’s, 2 7-13 ; Gen. Scott’s, 2 5-10; Longfellow’s, 2 6-11 ; 
Gen. Sherman’s 2 1-2; Macaulay’s, 2 5-9; Farragut’s, 
2 3-4 ; Commodore Wise’s, 1 7-12 ; Tennyson’s, 2 4-7 ; 
Hoffman’s, 2 7-13 ; the average magazine nose of this 
city is 1 5-8 ; in Philadelphia, 17-8; McClellan’s is 2 8-12 ; 
Verplaucks’, 2 5-8 ; Bayard Taylor’s, 2 6-11 ; we shall 
have Fredrika Bremer’s by next steamer ; the nose of the 
Academy of Design, 2 5-9; Browning’s, 2 5-9; Miss 
Mulock has a very respectable feature for a woman, being 
2 1-4 ; Jean Ingelow, 2 1-8 ; Bonner’s, 2 1-2 ; Seward’s, 
nearly 3 inches, and our own a snub. 

In making our measurements, we have had the greatest 
difficulties to encounter, by reason of the foolish desire 
of many to be represented as measuring more than they are 
entitled to. But, as we know by experience how often 
scientific data are put aside as worthy of no credit, be- 
cause of a few trifling defects or errors, we have been 
guided only by our instruments. We know it is very 
hard to refuse a sixteenth of an inch, when it is asked by 
a friend, as a particular favor, but, nevertheless, our ‘ ‘ re- 
flections” must be accurate and reliable, or else they will be 
justly condemned. In pursuance of our theory, we have 
engaged Mr. Pike, the eminent mathematical instrument 
maker, to construct for us a noseometer, of the greatest 
capacity, and will, from time to time, furnish our readers 
with the results of the observations taken therewith. 


XV. 


{From the Bunkum Flagstaff and Independent Echo.) 

Bunftum museum. 

mbust opened, with 100,000 Curiosities, and perform- 
ance in Lecter Eoom ; among which may be found 

TWO LIVE BOAE CONSTEICTEES, 

Mail and Femail. 
also ! ! 

A STEIPED ALGEBEA, STUFT. 

BESIDES ! ! 

A PAIE OF SHUTTLE COCKS 
AND ONE SHUTTLE HEN — alive * 
the! 

SWOED WHICH GEN. WELLINGTON FIT WITH 
AT THE BATTEL OF WATEELOO ! whom is 
six feet long and broad in proportion. 
with !!! 

A ENOEMOUS EATTLETAIL SNAKE— a regular 
whopper ! 


BUNKUM MUSEUM. 


107 


AND ! 

THE TUSHES OF A HIPPOTENUSE ! 
Together with! 

A FINGAL TIGER: AND A SPOTTED LEPROSY! 
Besides 

THE GREAT MORAL SPECTACLE OF 
“ MOUNT VESUVIUS.” 

PART ONE. 

Seen opens. Distant Moon. View of Bey of Napels. 
A thin smoke rises. It is the Beginning of the Eruction ! 
The Napels folks begin to travel. Yaller fire, follered by 
silent thunder. Awful consternation. Suthin mmbles ! 
It is the Mounting preparin’ to Expectorate! They call 
upon the Fire Department. It's no me! Flight of stool- 
pidgeons. A cloud of impenetrable smoke hang over the 
fated city, through witch the Napiers are seen makin’ 
tracks. Awful explosion of bulbs, kurbs, tomiquets, pin 
weels, serpentiles, and terrapins! The Moulting Laver 
begins to squash out ! 

End of Part One. 

COMIC SONG. 

The Parochial Beeale Mr. Mullet. 

LIVE INJUN ON THE SLACK WIRE. 

Live Injun Mr. Mullet. 

OBLIGATIONS ON THE CORNUCOPIA, BY 
* SIGNOR VERMICELLI. 

Signor Vermicelli 


Mr. Mullet. 


108 


BUNKUM MUSEUM. 


In the course of the evening will be an exhibishun of 
Exileratin’ Gas ! upon a Laffin Highena ! 

‘Baffin Highena Mr. Mullet. 

PART TWO. 

Bey of Napels voluminated by Gondola Lites. The lava 
gushes down. Through the smoke is seen the city in a 
state of conflagration. The last family ! 4 4 Whar is our 

'parents f” A red hot stone of eleving tuns weight falls 
onto ’em. The bearlieaded father falls scentless before 
the statoo of the Virgin ! DenumongU 

The hole to conclude with a 
GRAND SHAKSPEARING PYROLIGNEOUS 
DISPLAY OF FIRE WURX ! ! 

Maroon Bulbs, changing to a spiral weel, witch changes 
to the Star of our Union: after, to butiful p’ints of red 
lites ; to finish with busting into 

A BRILLIANT PERSPIRATION! 

During the performance a No. of Popular Airs will be 
performed on the Scotch Fiddle and Bag-pipes, by a reaJ 
Highlander. 

Real Highlander Mr. Mullet. 

Any boy making a muss, will be injected to once’t. 

As the Museum is Temperance, no drinkin’ aloud, but 
anyone will find the best of linkers in the Sloon below. 


XVI. 


©P tije Mijtne. 

A LEAF FEOM A NEW BOOK.’ 



^HE clouds now began to break away — once 
more we see the distant peaks of the Sie- 
bengebirge and the castled crag of Drachenfels — a flush 
of warm sunlight illuminates the wet deck of the Schnel- 


fahrt ; the passengers peep out of the companion-way, 
and finally emerge boldly, to inhale the fresh air and in- 
spect the beauties of the Rhine. As for the Miller of 
Zurich, he had taken the shower as kindly as a duck, 
shaking the drops from his grey woolly coat, as they fell, 
and tossing off green glass after green glass of Liebfrauen- 
milch, or Assmanshauser, from either bottle. Betimes his 
pretty wife joined us, and walked on tip-toe over the wet 
spots ; the sun came out, hotter and hotter ; the deck, 
the little tables, the wooden seats, began to smoke ; over- 
coats came off, shawls were laid aside ; plates piled up with 


110 


UP THE RHINE, 


sweet grapes and monstrous pears, green glasses, and tall 
flasks of Rhine wine, were handed around to the ladies, 
and distributed on the tables ; and the red-cheeked Ger- 
man boy whose imitations of English had so amused us, 
shouted the captain’s orders to the engineer below, in a 
more cheery voice — ‘ Shore ! bachor! forrorP ” 

I had had an indistinct vision of a pair of whiskers at 
the far end of the breakfast table, brushed out d VAng- 
laise in parallel lines, as thin as a gilder’s camel’s hair 
brush. These whiskers now came up on deck, attached 
to a very insignificant countenance, a check cap, and a 
woollen suit of purplish cloth, such as travellers from 
Angleterre enjoy scenery in. Across the right breast of 
this person, a narrow black strap of patent leather wound 
its way until it found a green leather satchel, just across 
his left hip ; while over his left breast, a similar strap 
again wound around him, and finally attached itself to a 
gigantic opera glass in a black leather case. All these 
implements of travel, with little else to note, paced 
solemnly up and down the now dry deck of the Schnel- 
fahrt. 

In the meantime, my glass, map, guide book, were all 
in action, castle following castle, Rolandseck, Rheineck, 
Andernach, and all the glorious panorama, rolling in view 
with every turn of the steamer. And chiefly I enjoyed 
the conversation of my Miller of Zurich, whose plump 
forefinger anticipated the distant towers and battlements 
which he had seen so often, for so many times, in yearly 


UP THE KHINE. 


Ill 


trips upon the river. Nor was I alone, for from every 
stand-point of the deck were fingers pointed, and glasses 
raised, at the glories of the castellated Rhine. 

But in the midst of this excitement and enthusiasm, 
that purple traveller, with whiskers and straps, satchel 
and opera glass, walked up and down, unobservant of 
the scenery, miserable and melancholic, without a glance 
at the vineyards, or the mountains, or the castles. Then 
I knew that he was an Englishman, doing the Rhine. 

He walked up to our table, where old Zurich and his 
pretty wife were seated before the grapes and the wine, 
where my shawl and satchel were flung — map spread, 
and guide-book open — and said, in that peculiar English 
voice which always suggests catarrh — 

“ Going up the Rhine, sir ?” 

“Rather” said I, drily (for I hate bores). 

“Aw!” — now the reader must translate for himself — 
“ Forst time ye’ beene h’yar ?” 

“Yes,” I answered, “is it your first visit also?” 

“Aw — no ! ’beene hea-r pu’foh ; sev-wal taimes. How 
fawr ’goin, sawr?” (Don’t talk of Yankee inquisitive- 
ness). 

“ To Mayence, and no further this evening.” (Opera 
glass leveled directly at Ehrenbreitstein). 

“ Gaw’ng to Hydl’bug ?” 

“I think so.” 

“Hydl’bug’s ’good bisness ; do it up in ’couple of 
awhrs.” 


112 


UP THE RHINE. 


Here old Zurich makes a remark, and says: — 

“ Military engineers build, that other military engineers 
. may destroy.” 

Myself. — “Are those yellow lines against the hill 
masonry ? — parapets ?” 

Old Zurich. — “Fortified from top to bottom.” 

“Gaw’ng to Italy?” chimes in the camel’s hair 
whiskers. 

“ No ” (decidedly no). 

“Gaw’ng to Sowth ’f Fwance?” 

“Probably.” 

“Wal, if ’r not gaw’n t’ Italy, and you’r gaw’n to 
South ’f Fwance — gaw’n to Nim ?” 

“ To Nismes f what for ?” 

“ ’F yawr not gaw’n to Rhawm, it’s good bisness to go 
to Nim — they’ve got a ring thar.” 

“A ring ?” 

“ Yas, ’ont ye knaw?” 

“A ring?” 

“Yas — saim’s they got at Ehaome; good bisness that — 
do it up in tow hawrs ; early Christians, y’ knaw, and 
wild beasts !” 

“ Oh, you mean the Roman amphitheatre at Nismes — 
a sort of miniature Coliseum.” 

“Yaas, Col’s’m.” 

“ No, sir, I am not going to Nismes” — another look at 
Ehrenbreitstein and its shattered wall. 

“Never be’n up th’ Rhine before,” quoth whiskers. 


UP THE RHINE. 


113 


“No,” — we are approaching the banks of the “Blue 
* Moselle.” 

“ Eh’nbreitstine’s good bisness, and that sort o’ thing 
— do’t in about two hawrs ! ” 

“I do not intend to stop at Ehrenbreitstein, and, 
therefore, intend to make the best use of my time to see 
the general features of the fortress from the river.” 

“Aw — then y’d better stop at Coblanz, and go t’ Wis- 
bad’n, by th’ rail.” 

“What for?” 

“Why, the Rhine, you know, ’s a tiresome bisness, 
and by goin’ to Wisbawd’n from Coblanz, by land, you 
escape all that sort aw-thing.” 

“ But I do not wish to escape all this sort of thing — 
I want to see the Rhine.” 

“Aw!” — with some expression of surprise. “Going 
to Switz’land ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Y’ got Moy for Switz’land ?” 

“ Moy ? I beg your pardon.” 

“Yes, Moy — Moy ; got Moy for Switz’land ?” 

“ Moy — do you mean money ? I hope so.” 

“ Ged Gad, sir, no ! I say Moy.” 

“Upon my word, I do not comprehend you.” 

“Moy, sir, Moy!” rapping vehemently on the red 
cover of my guide book that lay upon the table. “I say 
Moy for Switz’land.” 

“ Oh, you mean Murray .” 

4 4 Certainly, sir, didn’t I say Moy ?” 


XVII. 


Cije jfitst ©gster=©ater. 

1 

a M® he impenetrable veil of antiquity hangs over the 
^ antediluvian oyster, but the geological finger-post 
points to the testifying fossil. We might, in pursuing 
this subject, sail upon the broad pinions of conjecture 
into the remote, or' flutter with lighter wings in the 
regions of fable, but it is unnecessary: the mysterious 
pages of Nature are ever opening freshly around us, and 
in her stony volumes, amid the calcareous strata, we be- 
hold the precious mollusc — th q primeval bivalve, 

“rock-ribbed! and ancient as the sun.” — B ryant. 

Yet, of its early history we know nothing. Etymol- 
ogy throws but little light upon the matter. In vain have 
we carried our researches into the vernacular of the 
maritime Phoenicians, or sought it amid the fragments of 
Chaldean and Assyrian lore. To no purpose have we 
analyzed the roots of the comprehensive Hebrew, or lost 
ourselves in the baffling labyrinths of the oriental San 
scrit. The history of the ancient oyster is written in no 
language, except in the universal idiom of the secondary 


THE FIRST OYSTER-EATER. 


115 


Strata ! Nor is this surprising in a philosophical point of 
view. Setting aside the pre-Adamites, and taking Adam 
as the first name-giver , when we reflect that Adam lived 
IN-Iand, and therefore never saw the succulent periphery 
in its native mud, we may deduce this reasonable con- 
clusion : viz., that as he never saw it, he probably never 
named it — never! — not even to his most intimate friends. 
Such being the case, we must seek for information in a 
later and more enlightened age. And here let me take 
occasion to remark, that oysters and intelligence are 
nearer allied than many persons imagine. The relations 
between Physiology and Psychology are beginning to be 
better understood. A man might be scintillant with 
facetiousness over a plump “.Shrewsbury, ” who would 
make a very sorry figure over a bowl of water-gruel. 
The gentle, indolent Brahmin, the illiterate Laplander, 
the ferocious Libyan, the mercurial Frenchman, and the 
stolid (I beg your pardon), the stalwart Englishman, are not 
more various in their mental capacities than in their table 
aesthetics. And even in this century, we see that wit 
and oysters come in together with September, and wit 
and oysters go out together in May — a circumstance not 
without its weight, and peculiarly pertinent to the subject- 
matter. With this brief but not irrelevant digression, I 
will proceed. We have “ Ostreum ” from the - Latins, 
“ Oeste r” from the Saxons, “ Auster” from the Teutons, 
“ Ostra” from the Spaniards, and ‘ 4 Huitri 1 from the 
French — words evidently of common origin — threads spun 


116 


THE FIRST OYSTER-EATER. 


from the same distaff! And here onr archaeology narrows 
to a point, and this point is the pearl we are in search of : 
viz., the genesis of this most excellent fish. 

“Words evidently derived from a common origin.” 
What origin ? Let us examine the venerable page of his- 
tory. Where is the first mention made of oysters ? Hu- 
dibras says : — 

" ‘ the Emperor Caligula, 

Who triumphed o’er the British seas, 

Took crabs and ‘ oystees’ prisoners (mark that !) 

And lobsters, ’stead of cuirassiers ; 

Engaged his legions in fierce bustles, 

With periwinkles, prawns, and muscles, 

And led his troops with furious gallops, 

To charge whole regiments of scallops, 

Not, like their ancient way of war, 

To wait on his triumphal car, 

But when he went to dine or sup, 

More bravely ate his captives up ; 

Leaving all war by his example, 

Reduced — to vict’lingofa camp well.” 

This is the first mention in the classics of oysters ; and 
we now approach the 'cynosure of our inquiry. From this 
we infer that oysters came originally from Britain. The 
word is unquestionably primitive. The broad open 
vowelly sound is, beyond a doubt, the primal , sponta- 
neous thought that found utterance when the soft, 
seductive mollusc first exposed its white bosom in its 
pearly shell to the enraptured gaze of aboriginal man ! 
Is there a question about it ? Does not every one know? 


THE FIRST OYSTER-EATER. 117 

when he sees an oyster, that that is its name f And 
hence we reason that it originated in .Britain, was 
latinized by the Bomans, replevined by the Saxons, 
corrupted by the Teutons, and finally barbecued by 
the French. Oh, philological ladder by which we mount 
upward, until we emerge beneath the clear vertical light 
of Truth ! ! Methinks I see the First Oyster-Eater ! 
A brawny, naked savage, with his wild hair matted over 
his wild eyes, a zodiac of fiery stars tattooed across his 
muscular breast — unclad, unsandaled, hirsute and hungry 
— he breaks through the underwoods that margin the 
beach, and stands alone upon the sea-shore, , with nothing 
in one hand but his unsuccessful boar-spear, and nothing 
in the other but his fist. There he beholds a splendid 
panorama! The west all aglow; the conscious waves 
blushing as the warm sun sinks to their embraces ; the 
blue sea on his left ; the interminable forest on his right ; 
and the creamy sea-sand curving in delicate tracery be- 
tween. A Picture and a Child of Nature ! Delight- 
edly he plunges in the foam, and swims to the bald crown 
of a rock that uplifts itself above the waves. Seating 
himself he gazes upon the calm expanse beyond, and 
swings his legs against the moss that spins its filmy ten- 
drils in the brine. Suddenly he utters a cry ; springs up ; 
the blood streams from his foot. With barbarous fury 
he tears up masses of sea moss, and with it clustering 
families of testacea. Dashing them down upon the rock, 
he perceives a liquor exuding from the fragments ; he 


118 


THE FIRST OYSTER-EATER. 


sees the white pulpy delicate morsel half hidden in the 
cracked shell, and instinctively reaching upward, his 
hand finds his mouth, and amidst a savage, triumphant 
deglutition, he murmurs — Oyster! ! Champing in his 
uncouth fashion bits of shell and sea-weed, with uncon- 
trollable pleasure he masters this mystery of a new sen- 
sation, and not until the gray veil of night is drawn over 
the distant waters, does he leave the rock, covered with 
the trophies of his victory. 

We date from this epoch the maritime history of 
England. Ere long, the reedy cabins of her aborigines 
clustered upon the banks of beautiful* inlets, and over- 
spread her long lines of level beaches ; or penciled with 
delicate wreaths of smoke the savage aspect of her rocky 
coasts. The sword was beaten into the oyster-knife, and 
the spear into oyster rakes. Commerce spread her white 
wings along the shores of happy Albion, and man 
emerged at once into civilization from a nomadic state. 
From this people arose the mighty nation of Ostrogoths ; 
from the Ostraphagi of Ancient Britain came the custom 
of Ostracism — that is, sending political delinquents to 
that place where they can get no more oysters. 

There is a strange fatality attending all discoverers. 
Our Briton saw a mighty change come over his country — 
a change beyond the reach of memory or speculation. — 
Neighboring tribes, formerly hostile, were now linked 
together in bonds of amity. A sylvan, warlike people 
had become a peaceful, piscivorous community ; and he 


THE FIRST OYSTER-EATER. 


119 


himself, once the lowest of his race, was now elevated 
above the dreams of his ambition. He stood alone upon 
the sea-shore, looking toward the rock, which, years ago, 
had been his stepping-stone to power, and a desire to 
revisit it came over him. He stands now upon it. The 
season, the hour, the westerly sky, remind him of former 
times. He sits and meditates. Suddenly a flush of 
pleasure overspreads his countenance; for there just 
below the flood, he sees a gigantic bivalve — alone — with 
mouth agape, as if yawning with very weariness at the 
solitude in which it found itself. What I am about to 
describe may be untrue. • But I believe it. I have heard 
of the waggish propensities of oysters. I have known 
them, from mere humor, to clap suddenly upon a rat’s 
tail at night ; and, what with the squeaking and the clat- 
ter, we verily thought the devil had broken loose in the 
cellar. Moreover, I am told upon another occasion, 
when a demijohn of brandy had burst, a large “ Blue- 
pointer ” was found, lying in a little pool of liquor, just 
drunk enough to be careless of consequences — opening 
and shutting his shells with a “devil-may-care” air, as 
if he didn’t value anybody a brass farthing, but was go- 
ing to be as noisy as he possibly could. 

But to return. When our Briton saw the oyster in 
this defenseless attitude, he knelt down, and gradually 
reaching his arm toward it, he suddenly thrust his Angers 
in the aperture, and the oyster closed upon them with a 
spasmodic snap ! In vain the Briton tugged and roared 


120 


THE FIRST OYSTER-EATER. 


he might as well have tried to uproot the solid rock &s to 
move that oyster ! In vain he called upon his heathen 
gods — Gog and Magog — older than Woden and Thor ; 
and with huge, uncouth, druidical oaths consigned all 
shell-fish to Nidhogg, Hela, and the submarines. Bivalve 
held on with “a will.” It was nuts for him certainly. 
Here was a great, lubberly, chuckle-headed fellow, the 
destroyer of his tribe, with his fingers in chancery, and 
the tide rising ! A fellow who had thought, like ancient 
Pistol, to make the world his oyster, and here was the 
oyster making a world of him. Strange mutation ! The 
poor Briton raised his eyes : there were the huts of his 
people; he could even distinguish his own, with its 
slender spiral of smoke ; they were probably preparing a 
roast for him ; how he detested a roast ! Then a thought 
of his wife, his little ones awaiting him, tugged at his 
heart. The waters rose around him. He struggled, 
screamed in his anguish ; but the remorseless winds dis- 
persed the sounds, and ere the evening moon arose and 
flung her white radiance upon the placid waves, the last 
billow had rolled over the First Oyster-Eater ! 

I purpose at some future time to show the relation ex- 
isting between wit and oysters. It is true that Chaucer 
(a poet of considerable promise in the Fourteenth Cen- 
tury) has alluded to the oyster in rather a disrespectful 
manner ; and the learned Du Bartas (following the elder 
Pliny) hath accused this modest bivalve of “being incon- 
tinent,” a charge wholly without foundation, for there is 


THE FIRST OYSTER-EATER. 


121 


not a more chaste and innocent fish in the world. But 
the rest of our poets have redeemed it from foul aspersions 
in numberless passages, among which we find Shak- 
speare’s happy allusion to 

“ Rich honesty dwelling in a poor house.” 

And no one now, I presume, will pretend to deny, that 
it hath been always held 

“ Great in mouths of wisest censure ! ” 

In addition to a chapter on wit and oysters, I also may 
make a short digression touching cockles and lobsters. 


* XVIII. 


& JLtterarg ©urtosttg.* 

acaulay in the Exordium to his History, proposed 
to bring his narrative down ‘ 4 to a period within 
the memory of men still living.” The phrase was doubt- 
less chosen for its ambiguity ; so as to delude *or to ex- 
elude some notice of our Revolution. If the following 
extracts be genuine (and for their authenticity I do not 
vouch), they favor the former hypothesis. They purport 
to be sketches for a future volume : stone, rough hewn, 
for an edifice which,’ alas ! the master did not live to com- 
plete. Historicus. 

Character of Washington. 

“The post of Commander-in-Chief of the insurgent 
armies was of vital importance. Yet, the man who, ol 
all men, was fitted to fill such a post adequately was at 
hand. The Congress knew it ; and with a unanimity 
that rarely marked their proceedings, selected George 
Washington — a delegate from Virginia. The reader will 
naturally pause at the mention of a name which is re- 
garded with fond idolatry by a federation of great com- 
monwealths ; which History has admitted .into the com- 
pany of founders of empire with Romulus and Gustavus, 
*See Preface. 



A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 


123 


and into the roll of great captains with Hannibal and 
Frederic : and which is pronounced with equal veneration 
on the banks of the Thames and on the banks of the 
Ganges. Both the circumstances of his birth and the 
circumstances of his education had fitted him for the part 
he was called on to play. In his blood, of English origin, 
there w T as blended something of the fiery valor of the 
cavaliers of Rupert, with something of the resolute energy 
of the soldiers of Oliver. His form, in its matchless union 
of vigor and grace, had foiled the pencil of Stuart and the 
chisel of Chantry. He had known the salutary discipline 
of early toil. With his stipend of a guinea a day as a 
surveyor, he had acquired, in youth, the art of controlling 
himself. In manhood, by the exercise of patriarchal 
dominion over thousands of acres and hundreds of slaves, 
he had acquired the art of controlling others. Equally 
fortunate had been his public career. He had served in 
the armies of the Crown, and against the natives of the 
wilderness. He had thus learned something, both of des- 
ultory and of disciplined warfare. At a later day, and 
on a wider theatre, his knowledge of the one enabled him 
to surprise the Hessians at Trenton ; and his knowledge 
of the other to entangle Cornwallis in the toils of York- 
town. 

u His courage was of the truest temper. Stoic savages 
told with wonder how he alone was calm when the sol- 
diers of Braddock were slaughtered like sheep ; and Con- 
tinental veterans loved to narrate how his face shone with 


124 


A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 


heroic fire as he rallied the broken battalions at Mon- 
month. His intellect was solid and comprehensive. The 
natural ardor of his temperament was subdued by a judg- 
ment of singular accuracy and prudence. His unaffected 
piety showed itself alike on public and on private occa- 
sions : when he drew his sword at Cambridge : when he 
sheathed it at Annapolis : when he knelt alone in the 
snowy solitudes of Valley Forge. 

“And, indeed, all the strength of his intellect, and all 
the resources of his character, were needed for the task 
he had undertaken. For he had undertaken to confront 
the finest infantry of Europe with an army of tradesmen 
and farmers — half clad, half fed, and wholly undisciplined. 
In the ranks, the spirit of patriotic ardor was but too 
often allied with the spirit of turbulent freedom. At the 
council board, there were officers to whom the precedence 
of a colleague was more galling than the tyranny of the 
common oppressor. He had to 'deal with deliberative 
bodies that acted when they should have debated, and 
with executive bodies that debated when they should 
have acted ; with an army that murmured at his activity, 
and with a government that blamed his inaction ; and he 
was forced to exhibit, to both government and army, at 
one time the reckless courage of Charles XII, and al 
another time the serene patience of Marlborough. 

“Nor must his claims to civic wisdom be passed un- 
noticed. His style, founded, it is true, on the turgid mas 
terpieces of that period, was accurate and comprehensiv 


A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 


125 


His talent for abstract speculation was not contemptible. 
He presided with commanding wisdom over that assemb- 
lage of wise and ingenious statesmen, who framed a 
system of government in imitation of a great system, in? 
which the centrifugal force of the separate Common- 
wealths and the centripetal force of the Federal author- 
ity were balanced with consummate skill. Nor did he 
exhibit less wisdom when called on to put in motion 
the machine which he had helped to frame. He resisted 
the unjust rule of many men, as he had resisted the 
unjust rule of one man ; and saw with prophetic eye the 
issues of that insane freedom that ended in the ‘ carmag- 
nole ’ and the 4 guillotine.’ Nor was the calm splendor of 
his setting unworthy of the long day of glory. He beat 
his spear into a pruning hook ; and planted choice trees, 
and reared rare breeds of animals with the same' con- 
scientious energy, with which he had ruled armies and 
governed cabinets. 

“And yet, the truth is that characters of such perfec- 
tion excite neither the just, sympathy nor the just admir- 
ation of the great mass of mankind. The very foibles of 
irregular greatness are a bond of sympathy and a source 
of interest. Most readers will turn away from a ruler 
who was never unjust, and from a general who never 
swore, to follow the amiable amours of Henry IY, or 
the picturesque passion of Hildebrand. So, also, do the 
defects of imperfect natures serve to render, by the force 
of contrast, their merits more striking. The eloquence 


126 


A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 


of Tully stands out in flaming characters against the 
dark background of that timorous nature ; and the glance 
of Bacon, the philosopher, seems more comprehensive when 
we compare it with the glance of Bacon, the venal judge, 
lowered obliquely on a bribe. The mental eye is misled, 
as 'the physical eye is misled by the mins of Palmyra or 
the Cathedral of Cologne. The imagination outstrips the 
reality, and bestows an unmerited grandeur on the restored 
temple and the completed church. But the harmonious 
adjustment of the mental and moral faculties of Wash- 
ington, prevent us, at the first glance, from duly estimat- 
ing the extent of those faculties. We are like the 
traveller who stands for the first time in that splendid 
structure which the genius of Michael Angelo has reared 
for the Catholic hierarchy. He cannot at once justly esti- 
mate the length of that endless nave, or the expanse of 
that awful dome. And not until he discovers, by re- 
peated observation, that the baldaquin which covers the 
altar is as lofty as a palace, and that the cupids that flit 
about the door are as big as giants, will he feel assured • 
that he treads the floor of the largest building on the 
earth.” 

The Character of Franklin. 

“ The new ambassador was Benjamin Franklin, one of 
the foremost citizens of the young Kepublic, and one of 
the foremost citizens of the older republic of science. He 
was of humble origin. Both in Boston, the place of his 


A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 


127 


birth, and in Philadelphia, the place of his adoption, 
he had wrought at that art, 4 preservative of all arts,’ of 
which the followers, like ships that bear spices and odors 
from the East, retain something of the precious cargoes 
they are employed to distribute. Tlie clearness of his in- 
tellect was equaled by the clearness of his perceptions. 
Under the name of Poor Richard, and through the 
humble medium of an ‘Almanac,’ he put forth a system 
of homely ethics, in which the virtues of temperance, 
probity, and industry were explained and commended in 
aphorisms of ingenious tersenpss. Nor did he fail to 
practice what he preached. He was speedily honored 
with offices of trust, both from the Colonies and the 
Crown. And when differences, that sprang partly from 
criminal interference and partly from criminal neglect, 
arose between the two countries, he exerted himself 
strenuously, first to prevent, and then to remove those 
differences. The hour for reconciliation passed away : 
and he now stood up for war with the same placid courage 
with which he had stood- out for peace. He was one of 
the Committee that drafted the great Declaration. He 
was now; sent to represent the good cause at the Court of 
France, and at the bar of European opinion. An extra- 
ordinary reception awaited him. He was widely and 
justly known as an eminent man of science — as the Co- 
lumbus of electrical discovery. The French nation is, 
beyond all other nations, fond of striking effect and 
picturesque contrast. And nothing could be more stri- 


128 


A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 


king or picturesque than the spectacle now presented. A 
Quaker diplomatist was about to appear in the most 
artificial of courts : a new Archimedes was to come from 
the land of the Natchez and the Mohawk : the legate of 
the latest republic was to recall the image of antique 
wisdom and of antique virtue — of the Grecian Solon and 
the Roman Regul-us. Haughty courtiers bent in emotion 
before him : brilliant beauties struggled for a kiss ; sculp- 
tors and painters pursued him with merciless assiduity ; 
the Academy rang with applause when Turgot’s adulatory 
Latin described the sagq as one ‘ who had wrested the 
thunder from heaven and the sceptre from tyrants:’ and 
upon a ship of war, that was sent on its mission of death 
and destruction under the desperate Paul Jones, was 
bestowed, with pardonable inconsistency, the name of 
‘Poor Richard.’ 

“ The chief glory of Franklin lies in this — that he was 
the greatest of the pupils of Bacon. And, indeed, ho 
was such a pupil as Bacon would have delighted to honor. 
To both pupil and master, Philosophy was not the mystic 
goddess of Plato, or the impracticable vixen of the school- 
men. She was an angel of beneficence and a minister of 
mercy ; an Elizabeth Fry or Florence Nightingale. Her 
mission was to relieve human suffering and to advance 
man’s estate. And, in truth, Franklin’s long and suc- 
cessful career was a triumphant application of these 
principles. No sooner had the electric spark glided down 
the kite-string than the lightning-rod was invented for its 


A LITEEAEY CUEIOSITY. 


129 


innocuous descent. The maxims of Poor Bichard were 
devised not only for the household of the Quaker 
mechanic and the dealings of the Quaker tradesman, but 
for the government of States and the intercourse of na- 
tions. Even the barren tactics of chess were made to 
furnish lessons for the liigher warfare of life. Nor did his 
philosophy fail to bear her fruits to the philosopher 
himself. The virtues of self-respect and self-reliance that 
walked by his side, when he entered Philadelphia with a 
loaf of bread under his arm, did not desert him when he 
listened, amid the frowns of hostile statesmen, to the 
pitiless sarcasm Of Wedderburne ; nor when he stood, the 
centre of universal homage, in the brilliant court of Louis. 

u Zealous theologians have attacked the orthodoxy of 
his creed ; casuists have cavilled at the imperfection of 
his ethics. But. he was doubtless a good man ; he was 
surely a great man. And he richly deserves the title of 
‘ the most useful of the children of men ’ — a title which 
Franklin himself would have prized beyond all the gifts 
of fortune and all the laurels of fame.” 


XIX.. 


Sfje Hace Uettoeen tfje f^ate aitii tfje ?i)cflge- 
fjog, mt tlje Hittle fir)caHj' tii? Uuxtrijuiie.* 

FROM THE LOW GERMAN OF SCHRODER. 

his story is a tough one to tell, youngsters, but 
true it is for all that ! for my grandfather, from 
whom I have it, used always to say, when he told it : 
“True must it be, my son, otherwise one could not tell it 
so at all!” And this is the way the story ran: — 

’Twas on a pleasant Sunday morning, toward harvest 
time, just as the buckwheat blossomed. The sun had 
gone brightly up into the heaven ; the morning wind 
swept warm over the stubble ; the larks sang in the air ; 
the bees hummed in the buckwheat ; the good folk went in 
Sunday gear to church, and all creatures were happy, and 
the hedgehog also. 

The hedgehog stood before his door with his arms 
folded, peeped out into the morning air, and chirruped a 
little song to himself, just as good and just as bad as a 
hedgbhog is wont to sing on a pleasant Sunday morning. 
And as he was singing to himself, in a cheery little voice, 



* See Preface. 


131 


THE RACE BETWEEN, ETC. 

all at once it came into his head he might just as well, 
while his wife was washing and dressing the children, 
take a little walk into the field to«see how his turnips were 
standing. Now the turnips were close to his house, and 
he used to eat them with his family, so that he looked* 
upon them as his own. No sooner said than done. The 
hedgehog shut the house-door to after him, and took his 
way to the field. He had not gone very far .from the. 
house, and was about to turn, just by the thorn bush which 
stands there before the field, near the turnip patch, when 
he met the hare, who had gone out on a similar business, 
namely, to look after his cabbages. When the hedgehog 
caught sight of the hare, he bid him a friendly 4 4 good 
morning!” But the hare, who, in his own way, was a 
mighty fine gentleman, and held his head very high, 
answered nothing to the hedgehog’s greeting, but said to 
the hedgehog, putting on thereby a most scornful mien : 

“ How happens it, then, that thou art strolling about 
here in the field so early in the morning ?” 

“I’m taking a walk,” said the hedgehog. 

“Taking a walk?” laughed the hare, “methinks thou 
mightest use those legs of thine for better things.” 

This answer vexed the hedgehog hugely, for he could 
stand almost anything, but his legs he did not like to 
have spoken about, because they were crooked by nature. 

“Thou thinkest, perhaps,” said the hedgehog to the 
hare, “ thou cotild’st do more with thine own legs !” 

“ That’s what I do think,” said the hare. 


132 


THE EACE BETWEEN 


“That depends upon the trial,” quoth the hedgehog. 
“ I bet that if we run a race together, I beat thee hollow ! ” 

“That’s quite laughable, thou with thy crooked legs,” 
said the hare, “but I’ve nothing against it if thou art so 
bent upon it. What’s the bet ?” 

*“ A golden Iouis d’or and a bottle of brandy! ” said the 
hedgehog. 

“ Done,” said the hare, “fall in, and then it may come 
off at once.” 

“Nay, there’s no such hurry, ” said the hedgehog, ‘ ‘ I’m 
still quite hungry ; I’ll go home and get a bit of breakfast 
first ; within half an hour I’ll be here again on the spot.” 

With this the hedgehog went his way, for the hare was 
also content. 

On the way the hedgehog thought to himself: 

‘ ‘ The hare trusts to his long legs, but I’ll fetch him 
for all that; he’s a fine gentleman to be sure, but still 
he’s only a stupid fellow, and pay he shall!” 

Now when the hedgehog came to his house, he said to 
his wife: “Wife, dress thyself in my gear, quickly, thou 
must go with me to the field.” 

“What’s all this about?” said his wife. 

“ I’ve bet the hare a golden louis d’or and a bottle of 
brandy that I beat him in a race, aud thou must be by.” 

“O my husband!” began the hedgehog’s wife to 
cry, “art thou foolish ? hast thou then quite lost thine 
understanding ? How canst thou wish to run a race with 
the hare ?” 


THE HARE AND THE HEDGEHOG. 


133 


“Hold thy mouth, wife,” said the hedgehog, “that’s 
my business ; don’t meddle with men’s affairs. March ! 
dress thyself in my clothes, and then come along.” 

What could the hedgehog’s wife do ? She had to follow 
whether she would or no. When they were on the way 
together, the hedgehog said to his wife : 4 4 Now listen to 
what I have to say. See’st thou, on the long acre 
yonder will we run our races. The hare runs in one 
furrow and I in another, and we begin to run from up 
there. Now thou hast nothing else to do than to take 
thy place here in the furrow, and when the hare comes 
up on the other side thou must call out to him-: “ I’m here 
already!” With this they had reached the field; the 
hedgehog showed his wife her place and went up the 
furrow. When he got to the upper end the hare was 
already there. 

“ Can we start?” said the hare. 

4 Yes, indeed !” said the hedgehog. 

44 To it then !” and with that each placed himself in his 
furrow, and the hare counted one, two, three ! and away 
he went like a storm wind down the field. But the 
hedgehog ran about three .steps, and then ducked down 
in the furrow and sat still. 

"When the hare, on the full bound, came to the lower 
end of the field, the hedgehog’s wife called out to him, 
“I’m here already!” The hare started and wondered 
not a little ; he thought not otherwise than that it was the 
hedgehog himself that ran out to meet him ; for, as every 


134 


THE RACE BETWEEN 


one knows, the hedgehog’s wife looks just like her hus- 
band. 

But the hare thought : there’s something wrong about 
all this ! Another race ! At it again ! And away he 
went again like a storm wind, so that his ears lay flat on 
his head. But the hedgehog’s wife staid quietly in her 
place. When the hare came to the upper end the hedge- 
hog called out to him, “ I’m here already.” But the 
hare, beside himself with rage, cried : ‘ 4 Another race ! at 
it again 1” 

“I’m quite willing,” answered the hedgehog, “just as 
often as thou likest.” 

So the hare ran three and seventy times, and the hedge- 
hog held out to the very end with him. Every time the 
hare came either below or above, the hedgehog' or his wife 
said “I’m here already !” 

But the four and seventieth time the hare came no 
more to the end. In the middle of the field he fell to the 
earth and lay dead upon the spot. 

So the hedgehog took the louis d’or and the bottle of 
brandy he had.won, called his wife out of the furrow, and . 
both went home together : and if they have not died, 
they are living still. So happened it that on the Buxte- 
hude heath the hedgehog ran the hare to death, and since 
that time no hare has ever dreamed of running a race 
with a Buxtehude hedgehog. 

But the moral of this story is, first ; that no one, how- 
ever high and mighty he may think himself, shall let it 


THE HARE AND THE HEDGEHOG. 


135 


happen to him to make merry over an humble man, even 
if he be a hedgehog ; and secondly, that it is advisable, 
when one marries, that he take a wife out of his own 
condition, and who looks just like himself. He, therefore, 
that is a hedgehog, must look to it that his wife is also a 
hedgehog ; and so forth. 


XX. 


ffifflWjat is tije Clause of punier? 

“First, let me talk with this philosopher. What is the cause of 
thunder ?” — King Lear , Act III \ Scene Fifth. 

series of observations, and a single experiment, 
would throw some light upon this important ques- 
tion. Take, for instance, a summer afternoon when the 
air is close and sultry, and the atmosphere rarefied, when 
respiration is laborious, and no wind stirring among the 
leaves. But, on the distant horizon, there are indications 
of vapor ; not rolling clouds, but thin exhalations from 
the earth, drawn up by the heat of the sun. Suddenly 
this humid veil is illuminated by flashes, and people call 
it heat lightning, summer lightning, sheet lightning. I 
wish particularly to direct attention to the fact, that this 
exhibition of electricity is not often accompanied with 
other phenomena peculiar to thunder storms. No rain 
follows the flash, nor is any report heard ; and, further- 
more, these illuminated vapors are always much elevated. 

It is idle to say that on account of distance from the 
earth the report is not audible ; for few persons, familiar 
with mountain heights, can fail to remember that some 


WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF THUNDER? 137 


time or other they were in the midst of such an atmos- 
phere, when the lightning appeared to surround them, 
apparently within a few feet of them, flashing on every 
side, yet without rain or detonation. In this condition 
the atmosphere is said to be highly charged with electric- 
ity. But surely we cannot accept this as equivalent to 
the same meaning applied to a Leyden jar, fresh from 
contact with the knob of the electric machine. Indeed, 
is not the contrary very possible? Would not the data 
show that, in such a condition the atmosphere, instead 
of being highly charged, had not its usual percentage of 
electric stimulus? Experiments with the electrometer 
might prove this supposition to be correct, and, on the 
other hand, they might prove it to be incorrect. But one 
thing cannot be disproved nor denied — that air, highly 
rarefied by heat, and humid, is air, plus water ; and also 
that in this condition air is susceptible of being silently 
illuminated by electricity. This point being settled, we 
will proceed to the next — which is, “What is the cause 
of Thunder?’’ 

The learned, down to the latest moment of going to 
press, have advanced no further than this, that “ thunder 
is a noise produced by the explosion of lightning, or 
by the passage of lightning from one cloud to another ! or 
from a cloud to the ground.” Whoever has read* the cel- 
ebrated treatise of John Conrad Francis de Hatzfield 
upon the subject, will find a far more plausible theory 
advanced by that sagacious philosopher, and quite as 


138 WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF THUNDER? 


amusing as the modem idea, that the sound of thunder is 
analogous to the snap produced by holding the knuckle 
of one’s forefinger to the brass bulb of an electrical 
machine ! — an explanation that has never satisfied any 
reasonable mind. Let us see if there be not a rational 
solution of the mystery. . 

The phenomena of thunder storms are: first, heavy 
clouds ; then lightning ; then the report, and then a 
fall of rain ! Now, let us trace the consequence to its 
source. The rain is produced by two causes, either sud- 
den condensation of watery vapors or clouds, by colder 
temperature, or the formation of water by the action 
of the electric fluid. The first explains itself; the latter 
is linked with the subject of this paper. Let us, there- 
fore, confine ourselves to that rain only which follows 
the thunder. Rain water is composed of two elements, 
oxygen and hydrogen. Hydrogen is a combustible gas, 
and oxygen supports combustion. A stream of pure 
hydrogen, ejected from a pipe into pure oxygen, burns 
brightly in perfect silence. But, mixed with oxygen, it 
explodes upon taking fire ; just as a young man, having his 
own fortune to make, goes quietly to work until he gets 
a partner with a tremendous capital. The relative aspects 
of silent lightning and noisy lightning may be compared 
by a simple apparatus sold at any chemists ; it is a tin 
lamp filled with inflammatory gas. So long as the gas is 
allowed to burn in small quantities it is taciturn, but, ex- 
posed to a larger mixture of oxygen, it goes off with a 


WHAT IS THE CAUSE OF THUNDER ? 139 

loud report. This is a lamp that any spark of electricity 
can ignite. And then again the product of the flame is 
water! The union of hydrogen and oxygen is water. 
What meteoric phenomenon is so simple as this, that 
thunder is caused by the electric spark uniting with rare- 
fied air plus oxygen, and rarefied vapor plus hydrogen, 
detonating, recompounding, and forming rain ! 


* 


XXI. 

a jFrenrij Uteaftfast.* 

le Prince de Talleyrand gave a dejeuner A la 
^ fourchette at which the illustrious Brillat Sa- 
varin was a guest. This great philosopher gives us the 
bill of fare, interspersed with his own reflections and 
directions, which I have translated for the edification of 
all gourmets. Yours, P. D. 

1st. Guinea hen’s eggs fried in quail’s fat, spread with 
a coulis (gravy) of ecrevisse (a species of crawfish), very 
warm, each egg being a single morsel, and taken at a 
mouthful, after having been well turned in the coulis. 

Eat pianissimo. 

After each egg drink two fingers of old Madeira. This 
wine to be drunk with reflection. (Becueillement), 

2d. Lake Trout with Montpelier butter, iced (butter 
made with aromatic herbs). Roll each morsel nicely and 
perfectly in this high-flavored seasoning. 

Eat allegro. 

Drink two glasses of fine Sauterne or Latour Blanche. 
To be drunk contemplatively. 



* See Preface. 


A FRENCH BREAKFAST. 


141 


3d. Fillets of the breast of Grouse, with white truffles 
of Piemant — raw, in slices. 

Place each fillet between two layers of truffles, and let 
them soak well in gravy a la perigueux , made of black 
truffles served apart. 

Eat forte, on account of the white truffles being raw. 

Drink two glasses of Chateau Margaux ; the beautiful 
flavor of this wine will be most apparent after drinking. 

4th. Koasted Kail on a Crust, a la Sardanapale ; the 
legs and side-bones to be eaten only ; the leg not to be # 
cut in two ; take it between the thumb and fingers ; salt 
it lightly ; put the thigh part between the teeth and chew 
it all, meat and bone. 

Eat largo and fortissimo, at the same time take a cut 
of the hot crust, prepared with a condiment of liver and 
brain of woodcock, goose liver of Strasbourg, marrow . 
of red deer, and pounded anchovies, highly spiced. 

Drink two glasses of Clos Vougeot ; pour out this wine 
with emotion, and drink with a religious sentiment. 

5th. Morilles (a species of large and exquisite mush- 
rooms), with fine herbs and essence of ham ; let these 
divine cryptogamas melt in the mouth. 

Eat pianissimo. 

Drink a glass of Cote Kotie, or a glass of very old 
Johannesberger. No recommendation as to the way of 
drinking this wine (the Cote Kotie) ; it is commanding 
and self-imposing; as to the Johannesberger, treat it 
like a venerable patriarch. 


142 


A FRENCH BREAKFAST. 


6th. Bouchees a la Duchesse, with pine-apple jelly. 

Eat amoroso. 

Drink two or three glasses of Champagne, Sillery Sec, 
Verzeney, non Mousseux (still) iced to snow. 

7th. Brie Cheese, or Estanville (near Meaux). . 

Drink one glass of Port. 

Then, if you please, an excellent cigar (demi regalia 
de Cabanas), after which one small glass of Cura 9 ao, and 
a siesta, during which you will dream of the beauties of 
• the dinner to come. 

Each course of such a breakfast must be served only 
at the time the cook is ready ; the guest must wait, not 
the cook, so that the dishes may be presented in perfect 
order 


XXII. 


©aiittj) points for 3£picu«att Smofcers.* 

hoeyer has been in Havana must needs recol- 
lect the little brazier, with its ball of white 
ashes, beneath which a live hard-wood coal, called a 
“candela,” glows all day for the accommodation of 
smokers in every house. This we thought once a dainty 
device. But our friend, Master Karl, has given us some 
new, delicate, and fragrant suggestions : — 

“It is an established canon that the purest and most 
elevated tastes or flavors are unmixed — - simple. I re- 
spectfully submit that in smoking tobacco, this rule by 
no means holds good. 

“And here I might cite the learned Winstruphius, 
who in his 4 Epigrammata ’ puns so learnedly on Bac- 
chus and To-Bacco, and their mutual flavoring influence. 
This I spare you. Likewise the lucubrations of Schiop - 
plus Dunderhedius, who in speaking most horrifically, 
Da* odore fetida* tobacci, distinctly analyzes it into two 
smells — one infernal, the other diabolical. This spared 
also (by request). 



* See Preface. 


144 


DAINTY HINTS FOR 


“ But I mean Simply to say that a point may be given 
to a good cigar by lighting it from wood — not from the 
timber of a lucifer match, but from a smouldering, smok- 
ing fragment of a log, either hickory, oak, or even pine. 
And note ye, good fellows all, that the earlier in the 
season this, is done, the more delicate is the gout ; yea, 
this rule holds so far good, that on the first crisp evenings 
in September, no musk-rose or violet that is — nay, no 
vitivert — nay, no ess bouquet — nay, no florimel — nay, 
no eau de cypre — nay, no hediosmya — nay, no daintily- 
ambered aqua colonice or any Paradisaical sweets that 
be, can surpass the odor at of the first whiff of a wood- 
lighted cigar. 

“Yea, and more. If you smoke light, and mild, and 
dry, preferring Latik^a and Knaster to fine-cut, turnback, 
and chopped cavendish, there is a class of perfumes — 
that I ween, which Piesse places as the third note in the 
gamut of good smells — a certain spicy oriental class, 
such as cascarrilla, or a faint admixture of santal, which 
perfumes the axe which lays it low, which in no wise de- 
tracts from piping joys. And I tell you in all truth, 
that Virginia leaf, with these sweet delights, and with 
sumach or kinni kinnick therein gently mingled, spreads 
around such a pastilled, ecclesiastical cathedral air, 
blended with dim souvenirs of the rue Brdda, that *he 
who smokes thereof is oftentimes in tone to sing the 
high song of King Solomon, or the lyrics of the Persian 
land, wherein love and devotion are so curiously en- 


EPICUREAN SMOKERS. 


145 


twined, that no sensation that is, can be compared 
thereto, unless it be the kissing of your sweetheart 
during sermon-time under* the lee of a high-backed old- 
fashioned pew. 


“ 4 Ita dixit ille Rector 

Er wollt’s nicht anders lian, 
Yale semper bone Lector, 
Lug du und stoss dicb dran 
Out Oesell ist Rinckman 






XXIII. 


®atas (ttljampagne Ixitotott to ttje ancients?* 

New Yoke, July 1st, 1867. 

HE author of the following two communications, written 
seven years ago, in now revising them, finds melancholy 
thoughts taking the place of the gay and festive feelings in which they 
were originally composed. In those seven years of civil strife which 
brought sorrow to the hearts of thousands, whose loved ones, whose 
“beautiful and brave,” fell on the battle-field, death did not spare 
some of the best and noblest of those who were sportively mentioned 
in these papers. 

Dr. Francis has passed away — Dr. Francis, the jovial, the kind- 
hearted, the man of boundless curiosity and unerring memory, of 
large and sound acquirements, the genuine and enthusiastic New 
Yorker, who has preserved the choicest memorials of the men of the 
last generation in that city which he himself so long gladdened and 
instructed. 

President Felton, of Harvard University, is no more. The great, the 
genial, the liberal, the wise, the accomplished scholar, one of whose 
Homeric criticisms is specially combated in these papers, who is there 
described as a person of the highest scholarship, armed with the 
authority, and clothed with the dignity of Jupiter, he, too, was. soon 
suddenly snatched away from the station he adorned, and the studies 
which he loved. 



See Preface. 


WAS CHAMPAGNE KNOWN, ETC. 147 

New York still mourns the death of one of her most eminent sur- 
geons, Dr. John Watson. 

The memory of all men of professional excellence, however high 
it may have been, is proverbially brief. 

“ Feeble tradition is their memory’s guard.” 

Thus the fame of the distinguished skill of Watson must soon fade 
away, like that of Kissam, of Wright, of Post, and even within 
a few years, that of Mott. But the memory of Dr. Watson will 
be preserved by his volume on “The Medical Profession in Ancient 
Times,” a book equally agreeable and impressive, very learned, yet 
very original. That memory will also be preserved and cherished 
among a limited but very select class of students, in law, in medicine, 
and in intellectual science, by his elaborate, acute and exhaustive 
printed opinions as a medical expert in the great Paisk will case. 

To those honored names must I add that of Thackeray. He was one 
well known familiarly in our American cities, and there are still 
hundreds who quote his criticisms on our “ Big Bursts of Oysters,” as 
well as on our old Madeira, so plentiful and so prized but twenty 
years ago, while the portraits of Col. Newcome, of Becky Sharpe, 
and many more, remain, life-like in the minds of thousands. 

But such recollections will touch and sadden only some few of my 
older readers. The passages relating to the lamented dead have been 
therefore left unaltered, in the wish to give to such of any younger 
generation who may casually look into this book, a passing glance at 
the pursuits and opinions of some of tho noted literary men among 
us in 1860. 

r, August 7, 1866. 

My Dear Cozzens: — I had hoped to spend my vacation 
in quiet idleness, with a rigorous and religious abstinence 


148 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


from pen and ink. But I cannot refuse to comply with 
the request you urge so eloquently, placing your claim to 
my assistance not only on the ground of old friendship, 
hut also as involving important objects, literary and sci- 
entific, as well as social and commercial ; all of them (to 
repeat your phrase and Bacon’s), “ coming home to the 
business and bosoms of men*” 

You desire me to inform you, after careful examination 
of all the authorities, “ whether the ancient Greeks or 
Romans, during the classic ages, were acquainted with 
champagne.” 

In such an inquiry, at once scientific and classical, it 
is all-important tha*t the question should be stated with 
logical precision. Bacon himself has taught us that the 
judicious statement of the question Qprudem interrogatio ) 
is one half the way to scientific discovery. 

Now, I may safely presume that you do not mean to 
ask whether the territory of Champagne was known to the 
ancients. Any Freshman can tell you that the fair land 
on each side of the murmuring Marne, and up the vine- 
clad sides of the mountains, was part of ancient Gaul, 
known and subject to the Romans, and designated as part 
of different provinces at different periods of the Roman 
sway. 

On this point and all relating to it you can get what- 
ever information you desire from Cluverius and D’Anville, 
or the Fathers of Trevoux. But this, I take it, you can- 
not mean, though it is the literal sense of your request. 


* 

KNOWN TO THE ANCIENTS? 149 

Nor, in my judgment, can yon mean to ask, whether 
the Greeks and Romans were acquainted with the wines 
of the growth erf that part of old Gaul which, under the 
ancient regime of France, was called the province of 
Champagne. Of course the Roman colonists in Gaul 
knew and used the wines therein grown and made ; but 
from the account given by the elder Pliny, of the wines 
there produced, they bore little resemblance to the 
present wines of Champagne, whether wousseux cremant, 
or still. They are not named with any respect in Pliny’s 
statement of the one hundred and ninety five (195 !) sorts 
of wine which in his day were counted fit for the Roman 
market, of which only eighty kinds were admitted to be 
“ wines of authority for good tables” — “ quibus auctoritas 
fuerit mensa,” as he says, unless I misquote him. The 
art of wine-making was then in its very infancy in Gaul. 
Indeed, it was not until the days of the great and good 
Ingulphus, the Seventeenth mitred Abbot of Yerzeney, 
who was also Dean of Rheims — (I give that great man 
the titles by which he was known in the last forty years 
of his life, although his most admirable and important 
inventions and improvements in the making and man- 
agement of wines were made whilst he was still only 
cure of Verzy on the mountains, and afterwards Arch- 
deacon of Ay, in the low country along the Marne) — I 
say, that it was not until the days of the aforesaid Ingul- 
phus (supradicti Reverendissimi Ingulphi as the Rlieims 
Chronicle styles him), that the wines of Champagne at- 


150 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


tracted the attention of Royalty. Soon after that they 
became the constant accompaniments, de rigueur , of 
all “good men’s feasts.” I write, as you know, out 
of reach of my own library, as well as of that of our 
university, and must trust altogether to memory. Other- 
wise I could not resist the temptation of expatiating further 
in the praise of this great benefactor of humanity. I 
will only add that the great Ingulphus of whom I speak, 
and to whom we all owe such an imp.ayable debt of grati- 
tude, was the one of the Rohan family, and must not be 
confounded with the three other very able and distin- 
guished men of the Latinized name of Ingulphus, or 
Ingulphius (for the name is spelled both ways), who 
figure in public affairs in the twelfth and thirteenth 
centuries. 

The great Ingulphus prosecuted his vinous experi- 
ments and effected his discoveries during the' reign 
of the famous Philip Augustus; or rather, Philip 
Augustus reigned in France during his time, which, 
by a very noteworthy coincidence, was the very period 
when, according to the best Irish antiquaries, their Milesian 
forefathers discovered and perfected the manufacture of 
whisky, usky, or the water, as it was called in the ancient 
tongue of the Emerald Isle ; though in the cognate dialect 
of the Scotch Gaelic, it was known as uisgee. These 
epochs also corresponded with the date when Magna 
Gharta, the palladium of England’s liberty, was wrung by 
the English from their reluctant monarch. No sound 


KNOWN TO THE ANCIENTS? 


151 


philosopher can suppose that coincidences like these are 
accidental. No, no: — 

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” 

But, to return to your inquiry. Having, by the pro- 
jess of philosophical elimination, excluded much vague- 
ness and danger of error, I proceed to reduce your inquiry 
to the*shape of the prudent interrogation, the logically 
exact questioning, of the school of Bacon and Newton. 
Your inquiry, then, must be this. Did the ancients, in 
the high and palmy days of their eloquencfe, philosophy 
and poetry, either in Greece* or Rome, or in both, know 
and use (and of course become fond of) any effervescent 
wine or wines having the chemical qualities, as carbonic 
acid gas, with the tartarous and saccharine constituents, 
th^ physiological and dietetic qualities, aroma, bouquet, 
etc., together with those other properties either belong- 
ing to the science of the laboratory or to that of the table, 
which have been so beautifully stated by my good friend 
Dr. Mulder, Professor of Dietetic Chemistry in the 
University of Utrecht, in his “ Chemistry of Wines,” as 
being essential to the true wines of Champagne, whether 
mousseux or demi-mousseux f 

In this statement of the question, you see, I purposely ex- 
clude the vinnon-mousseux , or what is less philosophically 
expressed in English by the name of “still Champagne.” 
This I do because in the vulgar and popular use, such wines 


152 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


are not included under the term Champagne, although 
grown and made in that District, and some of them, as 
Sillery, of the very highest merit, gastronomic and dietetic, 
convivial, social, and moral, and especially in those 
qualities which the physiology of the table designates as 
Oxyporian. 

Thus, I think that the preliminary question is clearly 
settled with an Aristotelian precision, such as the ^earned 
gentlemen who discuss questions of Contagion and In- 
fection in academies and conventions would do well to 
imitate. I then proceed to the investigation itself. This 
I am not ashamed to affirm that I do with perfect confi- 
dence in the successful restdt; for I do it, not like my 
learned friends just mentioned. 

“Caeca regens filo vestigia.” 

Or, as it is translated in my new version of Virgil, (now 
on the press of Ticknor & Fields) — 

“ With stumbling steps along the dubious maze, 

Tracing with half-seen thread the darksome ways.” 

But with a bold and firm step, lifting high the blazing 
torch of classic lore, which pours its floods of light forward 
in my path. 

The conclusion to which I come is simply that the 
Greek and Roman gentlemen and scholars, in the high 
and pahny state of their literature and art, had used and 
enjoyed wines similar to the effervescent, foaming, spark- 
ling, or creaming wines of Champagne. 


KNOWN 'to the ancients? 153 

I have stated the precise question, and the conclusion 
to which my mind has logically arrived. 

It would he descending not a little from the dignity of 
learning to recapitulate .any of the steps by which that 
conclusion was attained, and the various authorities on 
which it rests. 

It is a wise general rule never to give such reasons for 
your opinions. Let those who ask your opinion be satis- 
fied when they have got it. Yet, considering the great 
importance of the present inquiry, and the intense inter- 
est which it must excite, I will deviate from my ordinary 
practice. 

Before stating this evidence, it must be observed, once 
for all, that though I hold that a sparkling wine similar 
to our best Champagne was known to the ancients, it is 
quite as clear that sqch was not a common characteristic 
of their wines. The resemblance was only of some of 
their choice vintages to those of our Champagnes. Other- 
wise, their wines were commonly still, strong, and often 
thick, like our “Essence Tokay.” I do not care to 
trouble you with any learning on this head. It would be 
too large a dose for the present. 

On all similar questions as to Grecian habits and Greek 
learning, the best and most universal authority is Athenseus. 
He is the most delightful and instructive author on mat- 
ters of the table in any language, being to Greek literature 
a Dr. Kitchener of a higher order, or rather his work is 
what Brillat-Savarin’s * 4 Physiologie du Gout” is in F rench ; 


154 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


but it is of far more value than Savarin’s, because, with 
equal sprightliness and familiar knowledge of the subject 
that he handles, his book is filled, crammed, stufled, 
spiced, larded with choice extracts from numerous Greek 
poets and dramatists, whose other writings are all lost. 

I always make Athenseus my summer travelling com- 
panion — in the original, of course ; and I prefer reading 
him in Schweighauser’s last edition, partly because it is 
the best, but chiefly because old Schweighauser was ex- 
ceedingly kind to me at Strasbourg, more years ago than 
I care to tell. But as I know that your Greek is exceed- 
ingly rusty, you may consult Athenseus with profit and 
pleasure jn Bohn’s edition of Yonge’s literal translation. 
I looked into it not long ago, and found that I could 
understand it nearly or quite as well as the original, which 
is more than I can say for most of the translations which 
our college lads use for “ ponies.” 

Amongst an infinite number of delicious excerpts from 
Greek poets as popular in their day as Beranger is in our 
own, but of whom nothing remains to posterity but ex- 
quisite fragments, he quotes a long passage from Critias, 
who thus begins a poem which, by the way, is palpably 
the model of the well-known lines of Goethe, and of Byron 
who is thought to have borrowed from him. Yet as 
Byron knew much more Greek than he did German, I have 
no doubt that both he and Goethe copied directly from 
the old Greek. Byron has it thus : 

“ Know you the land of the cypress and myrtle ?” 


KNOWN TO THE* ANCIENTS ? 


155 


Critias, addressing his native land of Sicily, says : — 

“ Hail to the land of the dim Proserpine! 

There sparkles and foams the mirth-boding wine, 

With its froth, its fun and noise, 

Its folly, its wisdom, its joys — 

The folly of sages, the wisdom of boys.” 

Does not the “ sparkling and foaming,” etc., clearly refer 
to some effervescent, frothing wine ? 

Again, Athenseus quotes various passages from Alexis, 
who seems to have been a Lesbian Tom Moore, for he 
luxuriates over “the rich and rosy wine” of the island 
of Lesbos, and thus addresses Bacchus on this wine : — 

“Hail vine-crowned Bacchus, chief divine, 

Who from his sea-girt Lesbian lair 
Erst floated out the demon Care 
With sparkling, ruby wine.” 

Can there be any reasonable doubt that the “sparkling 
ruby wine,” with its proper concomitant, “the floating 
out of old Care” from the place where he had long 
nestled in gloomy security, all allude to a choice, efferves- 
cing, red wine, precisely of the quality of an excellent 
vin rose mousseux de Champagne f 

Then gushes forth a torrent of quotations out of the 
inexhaustible memory of this philosopher of good suppers, 
from the poet Hermippus, who seems a cosmopolitan sort 
of a bard, and writes as if he were at home over all the 
known world. Complimenting other wines, for which 
he had unquestionably a right liberal and Catholic faith, 


156 , 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


the poet after praising the 4 ‘ Thasian’s mild perfume,” 
bursts into admiration of 

“ The bloom that mantles high 

O’er Homer’s Chian cup.” 

In every one of these beautiful fragments you perceive 
the mantling, pettilant character of our best Champagne 
mousseux or demi-mousseux , and there are clear indications 
(ki the original, at least) of the golden color of some of 
these sparkling vintages, and the roseate tinge of others. 

By the way, there is another ancient usage of which 
Athenseus has preserved the memory together with that 
of dozens of authors whose very names would have been 
swept into oblivion with their poems, their songs, their 
ballads, and their comedies, which were once the charm of 
the civilized world, had it not been for the inexhaustible 
memory of this most catholic of quoters. The fact may 
not be conclusive, but it is at least corroborative of the 
opinion I maintain. 

It is that the Greeks were accustomed to cool their 
wines even by snow , as they were not blessed with our 
ice-houses. What is this but an anticipation of the Vin 
de Champagne Frappe of our modern tables ? 

I must content myself witlqonly one more authority 
from this source. Athenseus himself, in his sober, prose 
speculations, says ( Lib. 1, § 59) of a certain wine, “ This 
kind is a wine which has a tendency to mount upward.” 

Now, with all deference to my old friend Schweighauser 
(who quite overlooks the point), how can any of the above 


KNOWN TO THE ANCIENTS? 157 

passages be explained without understanding them to 
refer to wines resembling our sparkling Champagne ? 

If I thought that you could read Greek with any sort 
of facility, I should not have troubled you with the above 
imperfect but not unfaithful versions of. these precious 
fragments. They are more faithful than those of Bohn’s 
translation, if not more poetical ; yet, like his, they are 
far from expressing the force and truth of the original. 
In reading aloud these exquisite fragments in their native 
Greek, I hear the whizzing burst of the exploded cork, I 
see the foaming froth of the goblet, I scent the flowery 
perfume of its delicate bouquet . 

These and other authorities in Athenseus and the bright 
dramatists and poets whose gems the philosopher has pre- 
served in his sober prose, like pearls in amber, are quite 
sufficient for my argument as to the Greek. When I 
get home among my books, I am sure that I can fortify 
these authorities by many passages to the same effect, 
from Plato, Aristotle, Ptolemaeus, Hippocrates, and St. 
Chrysostom. 

Yet there is one other authority not to be omitted in 
such a discussion. It is even that of old Homer himself. 
In some thirty or more passages he paints his gods or 
heroes gazing upon the angry sea, to which he gives the 
.epithet otvo\]/, literally 44 wine-faced.” The translators 
and commentators tell us that the compound word means 
44 dark,” or 44 ruddy,” like the wine of that age. What 
stupidity ! Is it not clear that it refers to the foam- 


158 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


covered deep — that it paints the angry main with its 
whole surface instinct with life, and mantling and foam- 
ing like the best foaming wine of the times — probably like 
that “Chian wine,” that the poetic fragments in 
Athenseus tell us was Homer’s favorite brand. In brief, 
the only translation which can convey the force of th’e 
epithet to a modern is the “Champagne-like deep.” It 
is impossible to describe more happily the “foam-faced 
sea,” the oivona Kovrov on which Achilles gazes, and calls 
forth his sea-born mother, in the beginning of the Epic 
story. How admirably does this harmonize with the 
wild spirit of the hero, and the stormy tale of his wrath 
and his glory. It becomes nearly as flat as the leavings 
of yesterday’s uncorked Champagne, if this glowing 
epithet is reduced to “dark,” or “ruddy,” or even to 
“claret-colored,” — which last would be at least more 
poetical, though not more accurate. 

Next, then, for the Romans. That a delicate vin 
mousseux petillant, a foaming and sparkling wine, was 
familiar to the tastes of the refined gentlemen of Rome in 
the time of Maecenas and his little senate of poets, and 
soldiers, and philosophers, we need no better proof than 
the testimony of Virgil himself, who graphically repre- 
sents the drinking of just such a wine as that with which 
you oblige your friends at various prices, and under sundry * 
brands, but all choice and dear. I take first Ike literal 
meaning of Virgil’s melodious verses, though I have long 
thought that those contained a deeper secondary and 


KNOWN TO THE ANCIENTS ? 


159 


recondite sense, referring to the recherche repasts of Vir- 
gil’s great friend and patron, Maecenas. It is in the close 
of the first book of the AEneid, in the recital' of Dido’s 
royal banquet to the Trojan chiefi Toward the end of 
the feast, Dido is described as ordering, and receiving, 
and filling with wine, the hereditary massive goblet of 
gold and gems, used by her progenitor Belus, and the 
long line of her ancestors, — 

“‘Hie Regina gravem gemmis auroque poposcit, 

Implevitque mero, pateram, quam Belas et omnes 
A Belo soliti ” — 

Then, after a pause of silence, she invokes Jove, the God 
of hospitable laws, to make that day auspicious alike to 
the wanderers of Troy and her own subjects, exiles from 
Tyre. After inviting the favorable presence of Bacchus, 
the giver of mirth, and of the gracious Juno, next she 
pours on the table the liquid honors of libation (laticum 
libavit honorem ); and after touching the bowl with her • 
lip, passes it on, with gay chiding at his slowness, to her 
next neighbor Bitias. Whereupon, 

“ Ille impiger hausit 

Spumantem pateram, et pleno se proluit auro.” 

For the sake of being very accurate, I have given you 
an exact prose version of the preceding lines, instead of 
my own resounding translation ; still, as I have already 
informed you, in the press of Ticknor & Fields. I 
proceed in the same way as to those last quoted. “He 


160 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


(Bitias), no slouch at his glass — (none of the translators 
in any tongue, have given the sense of impiger with 
such precision), drained off the foaming cup, and bathed 
himself in the overflowing gold.” Here, again, so far as 
I can remember, no one of the translators or commenta- 
tors — I have examined all of them in my time, though 
not very lately — has given the full force of the “ plenose 
proluit auro ,” for though it implies that this inexpert 
drinker drenched himself with the choice liquor contain- 
ed in the golden goblet, it also unquestionably means that 
he bathed his face in that vinous spray with which frothing 
Champagne often moistens or even bathes the face of the 
hasty and ill-mannered drinker. Good Abbe De Lille, 
better accustomed to the pleasures of Champagne than 
the port-drinking English translators and the beer-loving 
German commentators, comes much nearer in his 

“ S’abreuvanl Xiongs traits du nectar ecumant.” 

But you will see how much better even than this I shall 
do it in my translation, which, as I have announced at 
least twice before, is now in press. 

Here, then, I may triumphantly rest my argument. 
Yet I cannot refrain from adding what is probably 
known to very few scholars out of Italy. It is this ; Car- 
dinal Mai, whose services to learning have entitled him 
to the lasting gratitude of all scholars, discovered, 
eighteen months ago, among the hitherto unexplored 
treasures of the Vatican library, a manuscript, as yet 


KNOWN TO THE ANCIENTS ? 161 

unprinted, containing the H£neid with the notes of an 
anonymous old commentator or scholiast, evidently 
nearly contemporary with the poet, or at least of the 
very next generation to him, full of curious criticism and 
still more curious facts. This old scholiast, in his note 
on the very passage just under consideration, confirms a 
conjecture of my own, which I communicated in a paper 
of mine to the “ London Classical Journal” some twelve 
years ago or more. He expressly says that this passage 
was meant* to he understood in its literal sense by ordi- ' 
nary readers and by posterity, but that it also referred, 
in its interior or esoteric sense, to the habits of Maecenas 
at his festive board, where Horace, Pollio, Varus, and 
Virgil were in the habit of dining with him twice every 
week, not including his birthday parties and other high 
festivities. On these occasions those favorite guests were 
always treated with a certain foaming wine of the 
“Dido brand ” — “ vino effervescent, spumanteque, ampho- 
ris notd J)idonis signatis .” 

He adds, also, that this wine was always supplied for 
the table of Maecenas from the wine-vaults of Sulpicius, 

“ Sulpicianis horreis ,” the same eminent wine-merchant 
whose stock is mentioned with great reverence by Hor- 
ace in one of his odes. 

As far as I can make out the topography of old Rome, 
Sulpicius had his chief commercial establishment in 
Curtius street, nearly opposite to the first city station of 
the great Appian Way, the Hudson River Railroad of 

11 


162 


WAS CHAMPAGNE 


old Home, a locality not very unlike yours in your own 
city. 

1 trust that you are now quite satisfied that the gentle- 
men and of Greece Rome were accustomed to quaff a 
generous and pure vin mousseux , quite like, and in no 
way inferior to the best Champagne of our times. I 
trust, also, that you will have ambition and patriotism 
enough to make the resemblance between old imperial 
Rome and your commercial Rome still more perfect by 
arranging with your correspondents at Rheims or at Cin- 
cinnati to supply you with a DIDO brand of the very 
choicest quality. Recollect that it must not be non mous- 
seux or still, or even merely cremant , but resembling as 
near- as may be the Dido wine of antiquity, sjpumans , 
petillant , mousseux, sparkling, foaming, fragrant, and 
with the more important qualities of a delicate aroma 
and an unimpeachable bouquet . 

Yours, very truly, . 

P.S. — Remember me to our friend Dr. Francis, and con- 
. gratulate him for me, on the honor of the legal doctorate 
so worthily added last month to his medical dignity by 
his venerable and distinguished Alma Mater. She has 
anticipated our university in this grateful duty. Yet I 
.trust that our governing powers will not neglect to add 
.his name to the list of those eminent persons educated 
elsewhere, but crowned with our academic laurel, who 
figure in our triennial catalogue. 


* KNOWN TO THE ANCIENTS? 


163 


By the way, why does not the doctor, in his capacity 
of the Herodotus of your local history, amongst the fossil 
remains of the last century which he has dishumed, make 
out to dig up some choice reminiscences (there must have 
been much material for such) of the long residence of 
Brillat Savarin in New York between sixty and seventy 
years ago. I was exceedingly interested with the account 

of him related by Mr. in my visit to the Century 

Club with you the last time I was in your city. That 
the immortal author of the great work on Transcendental 
Gastronomy should have lived for some years in New 
York, by scraping the violin in the humble and 
unscientific orchestra of the John street and Park 
Theatres, under the rule of Dunlap or Price, and then 
emerged in Paris the most successful of authors, the 
gayest and wisest of table philosophers, and, moreover, a 
Judge of the Court of Cassation, the highest tribunal of 
France, promoted to that high station by the discriminat- 
ing Napoleon, . and continued by the Bourbons, is as 
whimsical and as surprising a vicissitude of fortune as 
any of the incidents in the life of Louis Philippe or gf 
Louis Napoleon. I must unquestionably have seen him 
more than once in former days, at the Court of Cassation, 
seated by the side of his venerable chief, the Legitimist 
Premier President De Seze, and there affirming or re- 
versing the decisions of the courts below, involving 
millions of francs and the most thorny points of the Code. 
But I never could dream that amongst these dignified 


164 WAS CHAMPAGNE KNOWN, ETC? 

sages of the law, in their grave customary robes and ju- 
dicial caps a mortier , I saw the sprightly author of the 
“Physiology of Taste,” who had erst for two or more 
years been first violin of the only theatre in village-like 
New York during the play-going days of your grand- 
father. 


XXIV. 


©email ffiSttnes anU a ®Ktite ffiellar* 

* p the Rhine in the leafy month of June, one might 
go further and fare worse, especially with regard 
to wine. The fact is, it is a noble thing to find some 
good in one’s surroundings. To pass serenely and quietly 
from Claret, Burgundy, and Champagne to Schiedam 
Schnapps and thence to Johannesberger, Marcobrunner, 
Riidesheimer, and even Piesporter, without a groan. 
To take a glass of Completer at Coire or allay thirst by 
Yin de Glacier,. Yvorne, or St. Georges, through the 
land of snow-capped mountains and yodles ; thence de- 
scending to d’Asti, Barbera, Campidano di Lombardi, 
Canonao del Sardegna, Monte Fiascone, Orvietto and 
Lagrima Christi ; drinking Aguardiente, Sherry, and Yal 
de Penas in Spain, coming down to Bouza in Cairo or 
Mahay ah .in Morocco, pitching into Yodke or Kisslys- 
chtxhy in Russia. Behold, quo ducit gula ! 

Perhaps, for euphony, it is the best way to sum up 
German wines under the headings Rhine wine, Moselle 
wine or the popular hock ; for what Anglo-Saxon head 


* See Preface. 


166 


GERMAN WINES, AND A 


can always recall even a few names like Augensclieimer, 
Assmannhaiiser, Affenthaler, Bacharach, Brauneberger, 
Bischeimer, Bessingbeimer, Bodenheimer, Bechebacher, 
Berncasther, Deidesheimer, Epsteiner, Euchariusberger, 
Geissenbeimer, Graacber, Griienhauser, Hocbheimer, 
Hinterhans, Johannesberger, Liebfranmilcb, Lauben- 
beimer, Liestener, Mittelheimer, Marcobrunner, Nier- 
steiner, Oppenheimer, Pitcher, Budesheimer, Kauen- 
tbaler, Scbamet, Steinberger, Stein wein, Schiersteiner, 
Tbiergartner, Walporger and Zeltingener? 

It is a popular fallacy to suppose good German wines 
are acid ; they are dry, fine flavored, and keep better 
than the five hundred year immortality of an oil paint- 
ing. As for the alcohol in them, by a careful analysis, 
Hocbheimer showed only 14.37 per cent, of pure alcohol, 
while a very old sample, only marked 8.8, a lower figure 
than almost any of the French wines. 

Johannesberger from the Schloss, is the king of Ger- 
man wines; twenty-five years ago, Mumm and Giesler 
of Cologne and Johannesberg, held the vintage of 1822 
at the rate of $10 per gallon ; at compound interest it 
would now be worth about $60 per gallon ! This wine 
with Steinberger, Geissenheimer, and Hochheimer, have 
the most delicate flavor and aroma of all German wines. 
The warmest seasons insure the best vintages, so those 
of 1748, 1766, 1779, 1783, 1800, 1802, and 1811 were 
celebrated among the past generation as we now look to 
1834, 1839, 1842 and 1846. Pure air and plenty of sun- 


WIKE CELLAE. 


167 


light are the best guardians for vines, and those crowning 
the high lands yield wine of the best body, while those 
in the low lands are poorer, and the wine requires years 
to attain a really fine flavor. Next to Johannesberger 
comes Steinberger of the Duke of Nassau, the iron hand 
in a velvet glove, delicate as a zephyr, it has the strength 
of a hurricane; kiss the beauty, but don’t arouse the 
virago. Hercules viraginem vicit , but every one is not a 
“ Dutchman ! ” 

There is something very attractive in Liebfraumilch ; 
the best comes from Worms, it has a good body and 
should be drunk reflectively, this milk for babes. While 
Marcobrunner, B,udesheimer,and Niersteiner are for arms 
and the sword song of Korner. 

Brauneberger ranks first among Moselle wines, and 
according to young Germany, there is not a headache in 
a hogshead of it ; certainly after two bottles of it, there 
was no Jeazenjammer next morning. The old story that 
Bacchus, when he lived in the Fatherland, having 
invited Jupiter down stairs to make a night of it on 
Brauneberger, so pleased the latter with this tipple, that 
he at once ordered all he could buy, on credit, for 
Olympus, to take the place of nectar, for a change ; may 
be true. When you go to Heidelberg, stop at the Black 
Eagle Hotel, and ask Herr Lehr, the landlord, for a bot- 
tle of Sparkling White Moselle ; drink it in the court- 
yard under the vine leaves, and to the sound of that 
fountain where the large trouts swim ! 


168 


GERMAN WINES, AND A 


To look forward for ten years to seeing a cellar and 
then have .it turn out a “ sell,” is one of the agonies of 
travel. Possibly under other circumstances, Auerbach’s 
cellar in Leipsic would have worn less the air of a show- 
shop, or less like Julius Csesar in peg-tops and a stove-pipe 
hat, than I found it, but not even a bottle of Hoch- 
heimer — those paintings on the wall representing Faust’s 
appearance and disappearance, and the old admonition 
of 1525: 

“Vive, bibe, obkegare, memor,” etc. 
could bring up anything ideal — so I left. At Mayence I 
was more favored, and though the scene comes up through 
several glasses dimly, at least the attempt can be made 
to describe an old-fashioned cellar, where travelling 
English don’t ask “ for that table, ah, he bored the holes 
in, you know. Faust, I mean. Three wax stoppers, 
and all that sort of thing?” “Haven’t got it, sir! ” 
answers the Jcellner. “ Then why the — don’t you make 
one! ” says despairing England. 

On the steamer from Coblentz, I formed the acquaint- 
ance of an officer, a lieutenant, who was just off duty 
from Ehrenbreitstein, and was on his way to Frankfort. 
Arriving alter sunset, we determined to stay that night 
at Mayence, and go on next morning by railroad to 
Frankfort. After dinner at the hotel, we strolled out to 
look around town, and finally, as we crossed a narrow 
street, he proposed a bottle of Brauneberger in a cellar 
on the opposite side of the way, a quiet old nest, he 


WINE CELLAR. 


169 


said, where only old-fashioned and well-to-do Mayenzers 
were to be found. Down we went, and passing through 
an anteroom, where a fine specimen of a broad-shouldered 
middle-aged German was talking with a spectacled old 
gentleman with the air of a Professor, in a land where 
Professors are something; we were passing on to the 
next cellar, when the broad-shouldered landlord, bowing 
with great respect, saluted my companion with a string 
of titles as long as a roll of sausages. Upon which the 
Herr Professor, for such he was, lifted his hat politely 
to us, and, salutations over, we entered the next cellar 
attended by the landlord. 

“ Altmayer,” said the officer, turning to him, “a bottle 
of that Brauneberger.” And duly and deliberately the 
portly wirth departed, soon returning with the Moselle 
Nectar and glasses. If Hasenclever has not visited that 
cellar, he has sketched its match in some quaint old 
German city, for there it was, an interior worth crossing 
three oceans to sit in, and drink Moselle or Rhine wine. 
The low ceiling was spanned with groined arches, dusky 
with age, not dark, as the olla color of Murillo, but a 
light-brown coffee-color, with a dash of light, borrowed 
from the lamp that hung in the centre of the cellar, and 
whose light just penetrated to the great butts lining the 
walls. The round table at which we were seated was of 
oak, dark with age, and anything more beautiful in the 
way of the light that shone through our brimming 
glasses of Brauneberger, and was reflected on that dark 


170 GERMAN WINES, AND A 

oak, I have never seen. The wirth having returned to 
the ante-room, my companion, evidently pleased with the 
interest I took in the surroundings of the cellar, judi- 
ciously kept silence until I had thoroughly viewed it all, 
sipping slowly the delicate wine, and wondering how all 
the sunlight got into the cellar at night. There was 
positively a thin golden cloud all around us, and such 
serene repose as a traveller who has been through a 
dozen galleries of paintings, innumerable churches, etc., 
all in one day, believes to be the height of pleasure, i. e 
Kheyf ! 

“‘I am very glad we came here,” said the lieutenant, 
“for I see you can appreciate what I have always 
thought one of the most picturesque wine cellars in this 
part of Germany. Have you noticed the grotesque 
carving on that door leading to the further cellar ? ” 
Turning my head in the direction indicated, I noticed a 
pointed arch doorjvay, surrounded with the most beautiful 
gothic tracery leaves, birds, monkeys, grapes, curious 
grinning heads, all cut in stone, while the oak panels of 
the door were rich in carved flowers and leaves. 

“The oak door,” said the lieutenant, “is a modern 
addition of the wirth! s, but the rest runs back to the 
16th century.” While I was still looking at the curious 
carving round the door, three or four middle-aged gen- 
tlemen, together with the spectacled Professor, entered 
the cellar, and after polite salutations, drew up to the 
table, and the wirth soon appeared with bottles and 


WINE CELLAR. 


171 


glasses for the different private guests, for in such light 
they all appeared and acted. Having a cigar case well 
stocked with a supply of Partagas primer as , it went the 
rounds, and the cigars were accepted after much urging 
on my part, for the idea is not German ; I had the satis- 
faction of reaping an amount of gratified expressions 
from each smoker that paid me for the sacrifice ; for I had 
nursed the few I brought with me from the States with 
great care. Conversation flowed on easily, and the 
second bottle of Brauneberger went the way of the first ; 
it was even better nectar than its leader. The light in ' 
the cellar appeared brighter and brighter, the golden 
cloud seemed filled with bees-wings’ humming, the great 
butts looming out of the mellow light looked like brown 
Franciscans making merry over a bottle of sambuca . 
The spectacled Professor told a right good story two feet 
broad, the other elderly gentlemen kept it up! The 
lieutenant ordered a third bottle of Brauneberger, which 
was better than its predecessors. 

Then there came in a wandering violin-player, blind 
as a bat, and a very pretty girl with a guitar, who was 
not blind, as her bright eyes, shining on the handsome 
lieutenant, plainly told, and when she sung that pretty 
song of “Frau Nachtigal,” it appeared to me, after the 
wine, that she accented those lines — 

* 

“ Wer du bist, der bin auch ich, 

J : Drum lass nach — zu lieben mich ” : | 


172 GERMAN WINES, AND A 

and regarded the lieutenant in the adoring style, permit- 
ting, at some future time, any amount of poussiring, as 
the Germans have it. Then we ordered just one more 
bottle of Brauneberger, and the lieutenant, taking the 
guitar from the pretty girl, sung in a fine, baritone voice, 
“ Soldatenleben ” — 

“ Kein besser Leben, 

1st auf dieeer Welt zu denken” — 

and the old gentlemen joined in the “Valleri, vallera, 
valle-ra ! ” chorus with hearty good will and * kreutz 
fidelely ! 

Several glasses of wine were bestowed on the blind 
violinist, a collection made for the pretty girl, who 
assured the lieutenant her name was Aennchen von 
Tharau, which he doubted, insisting on it that Aennchen 
died in 1650 and lived in Himmel Strasse! But she 
gave us a parting song, prettily sung, and floated off into 
that golden cloud and hum of bees, and the old Francis- 
cans smiled away from the big butts, and the spectacled 
Professor bore us backward in his discourse to the days 
when men passed whole lives as we were now passing 
hours, and believed they were doing right, the illiterate 
heathens. 

“ The Herr Professor will have us in Egyptian bond- 
age directly, unless we hurry away,” said the lieutenant 
to me in a low voice ; so we arose, as arise men who 
bear away many bottles; and kindly greetings and 


WINE CELLAR. 


173 


adieux bore us off to the wirth , who hoped to see us 
soon again, and bestowed all the titles on my companion 
that he had inherited and won ; and we sailed out into 
the moonlit streets of Mayence, and down to the hotel 
by the arrowy Rhine, and slept the sleep of men who 
have drank good Brauneberger in a grand old cellar 
surrounded by refined and genial companions. 

Yale ! 


XXV. 


H <£f)dstmas |itece 

of garnered rhyme, from hidden stores of olden time, that 
since the language did begin, have welcomed merry 
Christmas in, a*nd made the winter nights so long, fleet 
by on wings of wine and song ; for when the snow is on 
the roof, the house within is sorrow proof, if yule log 
blazes on the hearth, and cups and hearts o’er-brim with 
mirth. Then bring the wassail to the board, with nuts 
and fruit — the winter’s hoard ; and bid the children take 
off shoe, to hang their stockings by the flue ; and let the 
clear and frosty sky, set out its brightest jewelry, to show 
old Santa Claus the road, so he may ease his gimcrack 
load. And with the coming of these times, we’ll add 
some old and lusty rhymes, that suit the festive season 
well, and sound as sweet as Christmas bell. And here’s a 
stave from rare old Ben, who wrote with most melodious 
pen: — 

“To the old, long life and treasure ; 

To the young, all health and pleasure ; 

To the fair, their face 
With eternal grace ; 

And the soul to be loved iit leisure. 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


175 


To the witty, all clear mirrors ; 

To the foolish, their dark errors 
To the loving sprite, 

A secure delight ; 

To the jealous, their own false terrors. ” 

And here’s from that Bricklayer’s pate, a stave that’s 
most appropriate ; for when the Christmas chimes begin, 
to eat and drink we count no sin ; as sexton at the rope 
doth puh, it cries, “ Oh, bell ! bell ! bell-y-full I” 

HYMN. 

Room ! room ! make room for the Bouncing Belly, 

First father of sauce, and deviser of jelly ; 

Prime master of art, and the giver of wit, 

That found out the excellent engine the spit ,* 

The plough and the flail, the mill and the hopper, 

The hutch and the boulter, the furnace and copper, 

The oven, the boven, the mawken, the peel, 

The hearth and the range, the dog and the wheel ; 

He, he first invented the hogshead and tun, 

The gimlet and vice, too, and taught them to run, 

And since with the funnel and hippocras bag, 

He has made of himself, that he now cries swag ! 

Now just bethink of castle gate, where humble mid- 
night mummers wait, to t r v if voices, one and all, can 
rouse the tipsy seneschal, to give them bread and beer 
and brawn, for tidings of the Christmas morn ; or bid each 
yelper clear his throat, with water of the castle moat ; for 
thus they used, by snow and torch, to rear their voices 
at the porch : — 


176 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


wassailer’s song. 

Wassail ! wassail ! all oyer the town, 

Our -toast it is white, and our ale it is brown $ 

Our bowl is made of a maplin tree ; 

We be good fellows all ; — I drink to thee. 

Here’s to our horse,* and to his right ear, 

God send our measter a happy new year ; 

A happy new year as e’er he did see, — 

With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. 

- Here’s to our mare, and to her right eye, 

God send our mistress a good Christmas pie ; 

A good Christmas pie as e’er I did see, — 

With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee. 

Here’s to our cow, and to her long tail, 

God send our measter us never may fail 
Of a cup of good beer : I pray you draw near, 

And our jolly wassail it’s then you shall hear. 

Be here any maids ? I suppose here be some ; 

Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone ! 
Sing hey O, maids ! come trole back the pin, 

And the fairest maid in the house let us all in. 

Come, butler, come, bring us a bowl of the best ; 

I hope your soul in heaven will rest ; 

But if you do bring us a bowl of the small, 

Then down fall butler, and bowl and all. 

And here’s a Christmas carol meant for children, and 
most excellent, and though the monk that wrote was 
hung, yet still his verses may be sung. 

* In this place, and in the first line of the following verse, the name 
of the horse is generally inserted by the singer; and “ Filpail” is often 
substituted for “ the cow” in a subsequent verse. — Robert Bell’s An - 
cient Poems, Ballads, and Songs. London : 1857. 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


177 


A CAROL BY ROBERT SOTJTHWELL. 

As I in a lioarie, winter’s night 
Stood shivering in the snow, 

Surpriz’d I was with sudden heat, 

Which made my heart to glow ; 

And lifting up a fearefull eye 
To view what fire was neere, 

A prettie babe, all burning bright, 

Did in the airS appeare ; 

Who, scorched with excessive heat, 

Such flouds of teares did shed, 

As though his flouds should quench his flames, 

Which with his teares were bred : 

Alas ! (quoth he) but newly borne, 

In fierie heats I frie, 

Yet none approach to warm their hearts, 

Or feele my fire, but I ; 

My faultlesse brest the furnace is, 

The fuell, wounding thomes : 

Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, 

The ashes, shames and scornes ; 

The fuell justice layeth on, 

And mercy blows the coales, 

The metalls in this furnace wrought, 

Are Men’s defiled soules : 

For which, as now on fire I am, 

To work them to their good, 

So will I melt into a bath, 

To wash them in my blood. 

With this he vanisht out of sight, 

And swiftly shrunke away, 

And straight I called unto minde 
That it was Christmasse Day. 

And here’s a song so pure and bright, it may be read 
on Christmas night, unless the moon her light do lack, 
for which consult the almanac : — 


178 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


A HYMN TO DIANA. 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 

Now the sun is laid to sleep, 

Seated in thy silver chair, 

State in wonted manner keep ; 

Hesperus entreats thy light, 

Goddess, excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade, 

Dare itself to interpose, 

Cynthia’s shining orb was made 
Heaven to clear, when day did close : 

Bless us, then, with wished right, 

Goddess, excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal-shining quiver 
Give unto the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever ; 

Thou, that makest a day of night, 

Goddess, excellently bright. 

And here is something quaint and tough, for such as 
have not had enough : a Christmas carol, that was done 
in 16 hundred twenty 1 : — 

ANE SANG OF THE BIETH OF CHRIST. 

With the tune of Baw lula law. 

(Angelas, ut opinor , loquitur.) 

I come from Hevin to tell, 

The best Nowellis that ever befell : 

To yow thir Tythinges trew I bring, 

And I will of them say and sing. 

This Day to yow is borne ane Childe, 

Of Marie meik ane Yirgine mylde, 

That Uisset Barne bining and kynde 
Sail yow rejoyce baith Heart and Mynd. 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


170 


* 


My Saull and Lyfe stand up and see 
Quha lyes in ane Gribe and Tree, 

Quhat Babe is that so gude and faire ? 

It is Christ, God’s Sonne and Aire. 

O God that made all Creature, 

* How art thow becum so pure, 

That on the Hay and Stray will lye, 

Amang the Asses, Oxin, and Kye ? 

O my deir Hert, zoung Jesus sweit, 

Prepare thy Greddil in my Spreit, 

And I sail rocke thee in my Hert, 

And never mair from thee depart. 

But I sail praise thee ever moir 
With Sangs sweit unto thy Gloir, 

The Knees of my Hert sail I bow, 

And sing that richt Balulalow .* 

And here are several hints to show, how Christmas 
customs first did grow, for as the holy fathers say, some 
Pagan tricks we Christians play, and prove that Yule and 
Christmas box, are not precisely orthodox, for so we quote 
and understand, 

ANTIQUITIES FROM FATHER BRAND. 

In the Primitive Church, Cliristmas-Day was always 
observed as the Lord's-Day was, and was in like Man- 


* The Rev. Mr. Lamb, in his entertaining notes on the old poem on 
the Battle of Flodden Field, tells us that the nurse’s lullaby song, 
balow, (or “ he balelow,”) is literally French. “ He basl la le loup! " 
that is, “ hush ! there’s the wolf ! ” 


180 - 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


ner preceded by an Eve or Yigil. Hence it is that our 
Church hath ordered an Eve before it, which is observed 
by the Religious, as a Day of Preparation for that great 
Festival. 

Our Fore-Fathers, when the common Devotions of the 

* 

Eve were over, and Night was come on, were wont to 
light up Candles of an uncommon Size, which were called 
Christmas-Candles, and to lay a Log of Wood upon the 
fire, which they termed a Yule- Clog ox Christmas-Block. 
These were to Illuminate the House, and turn the Night 
into Day ; which Custom, in some Measure, is still kept 
up in the Northern Parts. 

The Apostles were the Light of the World ; and as 
our Saviour was frequently called Light , so was his 
Coming into the World signified, and pointed out by the 
Emblems of Light : “ It was then ” (says our Countryman 
Gregory ) “the longest Night in all the Year; and it was 
the midst of that, and yet there was -Day where he was : 
For a glorious and betokening Light shined round about 
this Holy Child. So says Tradition, and so the Masters 
describe the Night Piece of the Nativity.” If this be 
called in Question, as being only Tradition, it is out of 
Dispute, that the Light which illuminated the Fields of 
Bethlehem , , and shone round about the Shepherds as they 
were watching their Flocks, was an Emblem of that 
Light, which was then come into the World. “What can 
be the Meaning,” says venerable Bede , , “that this Appar- 
ition of Angels was surrounded with that heavenly Light, 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


181 . 


which is a Thing we never meet with in all the Old 
Testament? For tho’ Angels have appeared to Prophets 
and holy Men, yet we never read of their Appearing in 
such Glory and Splendor before. It must surely be, be- 
cause this Privilege was reserved for the Dignity of this 
Time. For when the true Light of the World, was born 
in the World, it was very proper that the Proclaimer of 
His Nativity, should appear in the Eyes of Men, in such 
an heavenly Light, as was before unseen in the World. 
And that supernatural Star , which was the Guide of the 
Eastern Magi , was a Figure of that Star, which was 
risen out of Jacob ; of that Light which should lighten the 
Gentiles.” “ God,” says Bishop Taylor , “ sent a miracu- 
lous Star, to invite and lead them to a new and more 
glorious Light, the Light of Grace and Glory.” 

In Imitation of this, as Gregory tells us, the Church 
went on with the Ceremony : And hence it was, that for 
the three or four First Centuries , the whole Eastern 
Church called the Day, which they observed for our 
Saviour’s Nativity, the Epiphany or Manifestation of the 
Light. And Cassian tells us, that it was a Custom in 
Egypt , handed down by Tradition, as soon as the Epiph- 
any , or Day of Light was over, &c. Hence also came 
that ancient Custom of the same Church, taken Notice of 
by St. Jerome , of lighting up Candles at the Reading of 
the Gospel, even at Noon-Day; and that, not to drive 
away the Darkness, but to speak their Joy for the good 
Tidings of the Gospel, and be an Emblem of that Light, 


182 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


which the Psalmist says, was a Lamjp unto his Feet and 
a Light unto his Paths , 

The Yule-Dough (or Dow), was a kind of Baby or 
little Image of Paste , which our Bakers used formerly to 
bake at this Season, and present to their Customers , in 
the same manner as the Chandlers gave Christmas 
Candles , They are called Yule-Cakes in the county of 
Durham. I find in the antient Calendar of the Romish 
Church, that at Rome, on the Vigil of the Nativity, 
/Sweetmeats were presented to the Fathers in the Vatican , 
and that all Kinds of little Images (no doubt of Paste) 
were to be found at the Confectioners’ Shops. 

There is the greatest Probability that we have had 
from hence both our Yule-Doughs and Mince Pies , the 
latter of which are still in common Use at this Season. 
The Yule-Dough has perhaps been intended for an Im- 
age of the Child Jesus . It is now, if I mistake not, 
pretty generally laid aside, or at most retained only by 
Children. 

J. Boemus Aubanus tells us, that in Franconia, on the 
three Thursday Nights preceding the Nativity of our 
Lord, it is customary for the Youth of both Sexes to go 
from House to House , knocking at the Doors , singing 
their Christmas Carrots , and wishing a happy new Year, 
They get in Return from the Houses they stop at, Pears, 
Apples , Nuts , and even Money, 

Little Troops of Boys and Girls still go about in this 
very Manner at Newcastle some few Nights before, on 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


183 


the Night of the Eve of this Day, and on that of the Day 
itself. The Eagmena* is still preserved among them. 
They still conclude, too, with wishing “a merry Christ- 
mas, and a happy new Year .” 

We are told in the Athenian Oracle, that the Christ- 
mas Box Money is derived from hence. The Romish 
Priests had Masses said for almost every Thing: If a 
ship went out to the Indies, the Priests had a Box in her, 
under the Protection of some Saint : And for Masses, as 
their Cant was, to be said for them to that Saint, &c., 
the poor People must put in something into the Priests’ 
Box, which is not to be opened till the Ship return. 

The Mass at that time was called Christmas ; the Box, 
Christmas Box, or Money gathered against that Time, 
that Masses might be made by the Priests to the Saints 
to forgive the people the Debaucheries of that Time ; and 
from this Servants had the Liberty to get Box Money , 
that they too might be enabled to pay the Priest for his 
Masses, knowing well the Truth of the Proverb : 

“ No Penny, No Pater-noster.” 

Another Custom observed at this Season, is the adorn- 
ing of Windows with Bay and Laurel. It is but seldom 
observed in the North, but in the Southern-Parts it is 
very Common, particularly at our Universities ; where it 
is Customary to adorn, not only the Common Windows 


Hagmena — i.e Haginmeene, holy month. 


184 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


of the Town , and of the Colleges , but also to bedeck the 
Chapels of the Colleges, with Branches of Laurel. 

The Laurel was used among the ancient Romans , as 
an Emblem of several Things, and in particular, of Peace , 
and Joy, and Victory. And I imagine, it has been used 
at this Season by Christians, as an Emblem of the same 
Things ; as an Emblem of Joy for the Victory gain’d over 
the Powers of Darkness, and of that Peace on Earth, that 
Goodwill towards Men, which the Angels sung over the 
Fields of Bethlehem. 

It has been made use of by the Mon Conformists, as 
an Argument against Ceremonies, that the second Council 
of Bracara, Can. 73, forbad Christians “ to deck their 
Houses with Bay Leaves and Green Boughs .” But the 
Council does not mean, that it was wrong in Christians 
to make use of these Things, but only “at the same Time 
with the Pagans, when they observed and solemnized their 
Paganish Pastime and Worship. And of this Prohibition, 
they give this Keason in the same Canon ; Omnis hoec 
observatio paganismi est. All this kind of Custom doth 
hold of Paganism : Because the outward Practice of 
Heathenish Rites, perform’d jointly with the Pagans 
themselves, could not but imply a Consent in Pagan- 
ism.” 

But at present, there is no hazard of any such Thing. 
It may be an Emblem of Joy to us, without confirming 
any, in the practice of Heathenism. The Time, the 
Place, and the Reasons of the Ceremony, are so widely 


A CHRISTMAS PIECE. 


185 


different, that, tho’ formerly, to have observed it, would 
unquestionably have been a Sin, it is now become harm- 
less, comely, and decent. 

So here we close our prose and rhyme, and end the 
Chrismas pantomime, with wishing health and happy 
cheer, to you through all the coming year, and pros- 
perous times in every State, for eighteen hundred sixty- 
eight. 


XXVL 


©xgportan Saines.* 

e have received from our esteemed friend, and 
valued correspondent, whose paper on the 
champagne wines of the ancients excited so much sur- 
prise and curiosity in literary circles, another article 
upon kindred topics, which will no doubt prove even 
more interesting than the former one. Embracing, as 
it does, a wider range of inquiry, it exhibits more clearly 
than the other paper, unusual stores of scholarship, at 
once comprehensive, familiar, and accurate ; a vigorous 
and telling style — in itself a model of good English 
writing ; a curious and technical knowledge of wines in 
general, beyond that of any modern writer with whom 
we are familiar, an exact knowledge, of chemistry, and a 
happy vein of humor, as original as it is genuine. It is 
not surprising that the authorship of the last paper 
should have been ascribed to several of the most profound 
scholars in the country. .But we can safely predicate of 
this one that it will excite a still wider range of specula- 
tion as to the name of the writer, which, for the present, 



* See Preface. 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


187 


we shall withhold until such time as we are permitted to 
print it. 

THE LETTER . 

— , October 5, 1860. 

My dear Editor I have been much amused in learning 

through the press, as well as from the more sprightly narra- 
tive of your private letter, that such and so very odd claims 
and conjectures had been made as to the authorship of 
my late hasty letter to you, in proof that the poets and 
gentlemen of old Greece and Home drank as good * 
champagne as we do. You know very well that the 
letter which you published was not originally meant for 
the public, and the public have no right at all to inquire 
who the author may be ; nor, indeed, has the said imper- 
tinent public to inquire into the authorship of any 
anonymous article which harms nobody, nor means to do 
so. I have not sought concealment in this matter, nor 
do I wish notoriety. If any one desires the credit of 
the communication, such as it is, he or she is quite wel- 
come to it until I find leisure to prepare for the press a 
collection of my Literary Miscellanies under my own 
name. I intend to embody in it an enlarged edition of 
this essay on the antiquity of champagne mousseux , with 
a regular chain of Greek and Latin authorities defending 
and proving all my positions. 

To this future collection of my critical and philologi- 
cal writings I look forward with a just pride as a fit gift 


f 


188 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


to the few in our country who occupy their leisure, not 
with light and trifling literature, but on grave and solid 
studies (like the investigation of the Champagne ques- 
tion), and with the culture of high and recondite learning ; 
or, as this thought is admirably expressed by Petrarch, 
in one of his epistles, announcing to a learned friend the 
completion of one of his Latin prose works, in a pas- 
sage which I have selected for the motto of my own 
Collectanea: “ Munus hocce prebeo, non iis qui levibus 
et ludicris nugis assueti sunt, sed lis quibus cordi est, 
gravis et severus bonarum literarum et doctrinse recon- 
ditse cultus.” 

You tell me that you have every day personal inquiries 
or written communications to tire Wine Press, desiring 
information as to the meaning of the word Oxyporian, 
which I used as characterizing the effects of certain 
wines. It seems that the word is in neither of the rival 
American dictionaries, nor in any English one in present 
use. Of this I was not aware, but if it is not in their 
dictionaries, so much the worse for the learned lexi- 
cographers. It ought to have been there ; they have 
no excuse for omitting it. On the other hand, you and 
I deserve all such honor as the literary and scientific 
public can bestow, for restoring the' word Oxyporian to 
the present generation. It is a good word, and one — as 
Corporal Bardolph phrases it — “ of exceeding good com- 
mand.” But I shall not imitate the gallant corporal in 
his style of definition and explanation : “Accommodated! 


OXYPOKIAN WINES. 


189 


that is, when a man is, as they say, accommodated ; or 
when a man is — being — whereby — he may be thought to 
be accommodated, which is an excellent thing.” That is 
not my fashion. This word Oxypokian is of great 
antiquity and high descent. It was first used by Hippo- 
crates, and from his medical use passed to that of the 
philosophers, thence into the Latin, and thence to the 
old English medical and philosophical writers down to 
Sydenham, since whose day it has not been used for near 
two centuries. It is from the Greek OZuKoptoc; and means 
simply that which is of speedy operation and as quick in 
passing off — first used as a substantive name of such a 
medicine, then as an adjective with a broader sense. I am 
sorry that it has gone out of fashion, for no other word 
can supply its place, either for scientific or literary use. 
The philosophy of the word, especially as applied to 
wines, is nowhere better illustrated than by one of the 
old lost poets in a fragment preserved by my favorite 
Atlienaeus. The Athenian dramatist Philyllius thus 
describes the Oxyporian character and effects of certain 
wines : — - 


Take Thasian, Chian, Mendian wine, 
Lesbian old or new Biblyne, 

Differing all, but all divine — 


Straight to the brain all swift ascend, 

* Drive out black thoughts, bright fancies lend, 
• Glad the whole man — then pass away 
Nor make to-morrow mourn its yesterday* 


190 


OXYPOKIAN WINES. 


That last line cost me more labor than I have often 
bestowed upon a whole lecture, and though it is hyper- 
catalectic with redundant syllables, expressive enough, I 
think of the metre and feeling of the original, it has not 
done full justice to the crowded thought, the practical 
philosophy of the gay and wise old heathen. 

% I never read Athengeus without renewed gratitude to 
kind Professor Schweighauser, who first opened to me 
that treasure-house of the remains of ancient bards, 
“with whom (justly says a modern critic) perished so 
much beauty as the world will never see again.” How 
fortunate it was that the old Greek philosophical diner- 
out was as much given to quotation as Montaigne, Jere- 
my Taylor, or myself. As for the learned French-German 
or German-Frenchman, Schweighauser — the recollec- 
tions of my brief acquaintance with him rise in my mind 
like “a steam of rich distilled perfumes,” fraught with 
the memory of refined classical criticism, and the flavor 
of the world-renowned culinary product of his own 
beloved city of Strasbourg, the pate de foies gras . 

But I must not forget to call your attention to the 
very curious parallel between this fragment of an Athen- 
ian dramatic author and^Falstaff’s eulogy on the virtues 
of his favorite sherris-sack. “ It hath a twofold operation 
in it. It ascends me into the brain, drives me forth all 
the foolish, dull and crudy vapors which overrun it, 
makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nhnble, 
fiery and delectable shapes.” “ The second property of 


OXYPOKIAN WINES. 


191 


your excellent slierris is the warming of the blood, which 
before cold and settled left the liver white and cold, but 

the sherris-sack warms it ” Yet why need 1 quote 

any more of what you and half your readers have by 
heart. Now there is not the slightest ground for attrib- 
uting this resemblance of thought and expression to 
Imitation. No (as I remarked in one of my lectures on 
the resemblances to be traced between Shakspeare and 
the Greek tragedies), the great ancients and this greater 
modern coincide m thought because they alike draw their 
thoughts from truth and nature and the depths of man’s 
heart. The comparison of the passage cited from Fal- 
staff and that of which I have above given my feeble 
version, affords ample evidence of this. They agree 
marvelously in ^describing th q immediate operation of 
the lighter Greek wines, resembling our best Bordeaux 
and champagne, and that of Fal staff’s more powerful 
and grave sherry. In this they are equally true. But the 
Greek goes on to insist on the Oxyporian worth of his 
favorite wines in gladdening the whole man “with mirth 
which after no repentance draws.” Not so the great 
English poet. He, with a dietetic and physiological 
philosophy as profound and as accurate as was his insight 
into the affections and passions of man, passes over in 
profound silence this point on which the Greek bard 
dwells. This Shakspeare does, not from ignorance, but 
to lead the reader to infer from Falstaff’s own infirmities, 
that such was not the after-operation of Falstaff’s “inor- 


192 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


dinate deal of sack” — that his drink was not Oxyporian 
— that did not pass away “like the baseless fabric of 
a vision n ( and, to use the words of the great bard in a 
sense which he might not immediately have intended, but 
which was, nevertheless, present to his vast intellect :)— 

“ Leave not a rack behind.” 

The fat knight experienced to the end of his days the 
slow but sure operation of his profuse and potent beve- 
rages, in results from which the judicious drinker of the 
more delicate wines of modern France as well as of 
ancient Ionia is and was wholly exempt. 

But a truce to ideas of past ages. Let me come down 
to our own day, and give you a practical example of the 
use and value of this word Oxyporian, and the immense 
benefit which we have conferred upon our own country- 
men, in having thus followed the precept of Horace,* 
so happily paraphrased and adapted to modern speech 
by Pope : — 

“ Command old words that long have slept to wake, 

Words that wise Bacon or brave Raleigh spake.” 

Such a word was this same Oxyporian . Now mark 
its application. 

Suppose that by way of aiding and embellishing my 

* Proferet in lucem, speciosa vocabula rerum, 

Quse priscis memorata Catonibus atque Cethegis, 

Nunc situs informis premit et deserta vetustas. 

Horat, Epist. ii, L. v. 116. 


OXYPOKIAN WINES. 


193 


Thanksgiving family festivities, you present me with a 
basket or two of sparkling native wine prepared accord- 
ing to the recently improved method. Thereupon I 
send you a brief certificate thus worded : — 

“ I certify that I have tried (number of bottles left 
blhnJc) of improved Sparkling Catawba on self, family, 
and friends, and find the same truly Oxyporian.” 

These few words speak volumes — a whole encyclopaedia 
in that one word Oxyporian. Even with my humble 
name thereto subscribed, what an effect would this pro- 
duce! But if in addition you could prevail on our 
mutual friend, Dr. Holmes, to concur with a similar 
attestation, how that effect would be multiplied a hun- 
dred fold! The Professor, upon the exhibition of a 
proper quantum of the last edition of our best brands, 
would, doubtless, in the Macbeth spirit of his late anni- 
versary discourse against chemicals and Galenicals, 
certify to this effect : — 


“After repeated experiments of the wine to me exhib- 
ited by F. S. C., being native Sparkling Catawba, with 
last improvements, I certify the same to be eminently 
Oxyporian. Take this quant, sujji. 'Repeat the draught 
next day. ‘ Throw physic to the dogs.’ ” 

“ O. W. H.” 


I shall be much mistaken if such certificates, thus 
clear, strong, brief ; inspiring public confidence and pub- 
lic thirst, would not at once* compel our native cultivators 
to put hundreds of thousands of acres more into grape cul- 
13 


194 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


tivation, and oblige the sole agent in New York to hurry 
A. T. Stewart higher up Broadway, leaving- that marble 
palace to be converted into an Oxyporian Hall for the 
exclusive sale of Catawba and other Oxyporian liquids, 
domestic and foreign. 

The same experiments might with great propriety, 
and, doubtless, with equal success, be repeated upon Dr. 
Holmes and myself with the Dido brand of French 
Champagne when it arrives ! 

I have just said that I am determined not to enter at 
present into verbal controversy on the accuracy of my 
translations and citations on the great question of the 
champagne of antiquity. I leave all that till my pro- 
posed publication, which I trust will settle the question, 
even against the authority ot Eustathius and Gladstone 
as to the word otWa, though the one was a Greek Arch- 
bishop eight hundred years ago, and the other is the 
present Chancellor of the Exchequer of the British Em- 
pire, and has just achieved the triumph of abolishing the 
duties on champagne and other wines of France. 

But I learn that two other arguments have been ad- 
vanced 'against my doctrine, both from distinguished 
quarters, and both founded, not upon the authority of 
scholiasts and lexicons, but upon the principles and reason- 
ing of the higher criticism. 

The first of these is advanced by President King, of 
your New York Columbia College. His objection to my 
argument is briefly this : If either the Greeks or the 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


195 


Romans had champagne, Horace must have taken his 
share, and luxuriated in recounting its merits and glories. 
As Horace makes not even a distant allusion to any- wine 
of this kind, no such can have been in use in his days. 
I have a great respect for President King’s judgment, 
both in respect to champagne and to Horace ; and his 
argument is logical in form and plausible in reasoning. 
Still this must have been an obiter dictum of his (as the 
lawyers say), not a formal decision, such as he would 
have given on full argument and examination of the 
authorities. I think that I can convince the President of 
the error of his argument ; and considering the magnitude 
of the question, and the responsibilities of his position, 
I am confident that he has too much candor to persist in 
his error after duly weighing my reasoning. 

I object entirely to Horace’s testimony — to his compe- 
tence — if he is offered as an expert in wine ; but if he is 
regarded as an ordinary witness to facts, then to the 
credibility, weight, or value of his negative testimony. 
This objection arises from no general disrespect to his 
character or talent. I am far from agreeing with an 
accomplished professor of your city, whom I might ad- 
dress in the words of Horace, 

“ Docte sermones utriusque linguae,” 
as master alike of the tongue of Shakspeare and of that 
of Schiller.* I cannot agree with him in vilipending 


* Dr. Francis Lieber. Ed. 


196 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


Horace — to use a word of Charles Fox’s, which I fancy 
has not been used since his days. I was told lately, at a 
literary party in Boston, by an eminent fellow-citizen ot 
yours, that this accomplished New York professor had 
pronounced Horace to be “a mediocre old fogy.” So 
do not I. 

As a keen-sighted observer and describer of men and 
manners, full of shrewd good sense and worldly wisdom, 
Horace has no rival ; and the unanswerable proof of it 
is that his thoughts and maxims, and even language, on 
such topics, have been incorporated into the thoughts, 
language, and best literature of all modern nations. In 
pure poetry, his patriotic pride and ardent love of country 
often raise him to the noblest strains of lyric declamation. 
Above all, he has an unrivaled power of natural but con- 
densed expression, compressing whole pages of thought, 
or of description of nature, of form or of manner, into 
a short phrase or a brilliant word or two. On some 
other points I nearly agree with your professor, who is as 
polyglot in knowledge as he is in languages. Horace’s 
love-verses I hold very cheap. In these he is indeed 
graceful, courtly, airy, elegant ; but he has little passion 
and no tenderness. If he ever approaches to any sem- 
blance of either passion or affection, it is when he trans- 
lates or imitates the Greek, to which source late German 
critics have traced not a few of his minor lyric beauties, 
and made it probable that he owed more than can now 
be clearly ascertained. The other line, in which I hold 


0XYP0R1AN WINES. 


197 


him to be still more clumsy and out of his element, is that 
which specially relates to our present purpose. It is that 
which he often affects, and effects with little success, the 
gaiety of the Bacchanalian songster. In nearly every 
one of his convivial odes he is as far as possible from the 
light gaiety or the broad jollity of such poets as Burns 
or Beranger, and a dozen Scotch and Irish songsters of 
far less name but of scarcely less merit. In his desperate 
attempts at jollity, his constant incentive to festivity — 
which* seems to mean, with him, nothing but hard drink- 
ing — is the shortness of human life and the black prospect 
of death, so that his festive odes may be condensed into 
the thought of Captain Macheatli, in the Beggar’s Opera : 

“ A man will die bolder with brandy.” 

Much as in his “Moriture Delli,” etc., he is inferior 
to the gay songsters of later times, he appears still worse 
when any of his scenes of conviviality are compared 
with those of Shakspeare, of Cervantes, or of Scott, 
with the feasts of Falstaff, of Sancho, or of Friar Tuck. 

If I compare Horace with these moderns, it is because 
the contrast is more striking from our familiarity with 
the latter. But the same thing might be shown to 
scholars by placing him by the side of Plutus, or of the 
remains of Greek comedy. The truth is, that Horace, 
with all his love of company, his shrewd observation of 
life, his keen perception of the ridiculous, was decidedly 
a melancholy man. I do not believe that in his most 


198 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


convivial hours, he ever rung out that hearty peal of 
laughter for which Walter Scott was celebrated ; nor was 
Horace, in those solitary rambles of his about the shops, 
markets #nd by-places of Rome, which he so agreeably 
relates, ever seen smiling and chuckling to himself, over 
his own thick-coming pleasant fancies, like your Halleck, 
when amusing himself in the same fashion in his frequent 
visits to Boston or New York. 

Yes, Horace was clearly as melancholy a man, when 
by himself, as Lord Byron was, and for the same reason, 
a stomach performing its functions badly, and stimulated 
in the one case by Falernian, in the other by strong gin 
and water. 

Horace himself, unconsciously, shows us the philosophy 
of all this, in the account which he gives here and there 
of his own history. He had led a pretty hard, promis- 
cuous sort of a life in liis early days of inglorious and 
disastrous military rank. Afterward he got up in the 
world, and became the holder of a comfortable office, of 
more profit than honor * and then, by the favor of his 
friends in power, became a well-to-do country gentleman. 
Next we find him suffering the certain penalties of an 
early debauched and chronically debilitated stomach. 
He had weak eyes, and a deranged digestion, the first 
being the natural result . of the other malady. He at 
times resorted to total abstinence and cold water, and 
became a great critic in good water, in which last partic- 
ular he showed his usual practical good sense. He was 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


199 


constantly running about, as he tells us, from the plain 
fare of his Sabine farm to Rome, where he shared the 
luxurious table of Maecenas. Thence he galloped off to 
Baiae, the Newport of that day ; then from one mineral 
spring to another ; now dosing himself with chalybeate, 
now with sulphur water. jBut all this water regimen is 
.interspersed with frolic after frolic in old Falernian. His 
love of Falernian flashes the whole truth upon us. What 
was this famed Falernian wine f It was, unquestionably, 
a rich, high-flavored wine, but as unquestionably most 
highly brandied , decidedly fortified with an enormous 
proportion of alcohol, nearly bringing it up to the proof 
of our most approved old Cognac. The commentators 
and compilers of antiquities do not let us into the secret 
of this same famed Falernian. But I speak on the very 
best authority. It is that of Pliny the naturalist. 

In speaking of the strong Roman wines, he says of the 
Falernian varieties, in a customary phrase of his, that 
there is no wine of higher authority, “Nec ulli in vino 
major auctoritas.” He then adds, that it was inflamma- 
ble! and the only wine that was so: “Solo vinorum 
flamma accenditur.” “It is the only kind from which 
flame can be kindled.” The ancients had no more pre- 
cise test than this one, that of burning with a flame, to 
ascertain the proportion of alcohol in these liquors. They 
had nothing similar to the various beautiful modes of 
modem chemistry, to ascertain the alcoholic proportions 
of wine as the eboulliscope of the French chemists,, the. 


200 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


halymetric method used by Fuchs and Zieri, and the 
ingenious aerometer of Tabaric, all which give such 
elegant precision to the alcoholic tables, digested and 
enlarged by our exact Dutch friend, Professor Mulder. 
But Pliny’s statement is enough to prove that the strength 
of Falernian did not arise Jom “combined alcohol” 
formed in the natural process of fermentation of the # 
grape juice, but from added “uncombined alcohol” (as 
the. chemists term it) produced by distillation. On this 
very question, I cannot refrain from quoting the opinion 
of Dr. Watson, of New York, in his most agreeable, 
learned and instructive work on “ The Medical Profession 
in Ancient Times,” a volume which, if it had been pub- 
lished in London, would have been reprinted in the 
United States, and had a circulation of thousands. I 
copy from the volume on my table which I have just read 
with much gratification to myself', and the highest respect 
for the -author’s science and scholarship. 

After quoting Pliny, he says, “ modern wines with 
only their, natural supply of alcohols are not of strength 
equal to this. That is the Falei'nian. It is therefore 
reasonable to infer that the art of distillation must have 
.been known to the vintners of antiquity. If so, it must 
have been confined to some fraternity and practiced by 
them as one of their secret mysteries, for the purpose of 
fortifying their wines, and thus kept secret until alcohol 
was discovered anew by the alchemists of the middle ages.” 

Snch was Falernian, differing only from our Cognac 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


201 


brandy from having a full vinous body with a luscious 
fruity flavor. 

This exposition of the true character of Falernian at 
once explains and is confirmed by the fact that Horace 
often in his exhortations to the hardest drinking, speaks 
of some rules of mixing water with the Falernian, which 
no Greek or Roman author mentions as usual as to other 
wines, excepting only certain Greek wines of a similar 
potency. 

All the above stated considerations prove to my satis- 
faction (and I trust also to that of President King) that 
Horace, with all his matchless merits, was exactly in the 
state of certain of our mutual acquaintances, some of 
whom, men of the prairie or of the plantation, alternate 
between ‘ ‘ total abstinence ” and unquenchable thirst for 
Bourbon and Monongahela; others, again, habitues of 
city clubs and hotels, vibrate between soda or congress 
water, and old Otard, or Geneva, more or less diluted 
with water ; generally less than more, and every day be- 
coming more and more less. . 

Now to the inference from this statement of facts: 
Would you, Mr. President, or you, Mr. Editor, take the 
opinion or the evidence of any such, of our acquaintance, 
though we should receive it with all respect on any other 
point, political, commercial, or financial — upon any 
question touching champagne. You would not ? Neither 
do I accept Horace’s testimony on the same subject. 

I learn that I have to meet another argument, leveled 


202 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


at my Homeric interpretation, of the word commonly 
rendered 44 dark,” which I hold to mean “champagne- 
faced, ” or covered with foam like champagne. This is 
from another dignitary of learning, not of your city, 
whose high scholarship is everywhere admitted. He is 
armed with the authority and clothed with the dignity of 
Jupiter, yet I cannot say with the Italian chief, — 

“Dii me terrent, et Jupiter hostis.” 

“ The powers above I dread, and hostile Jove.” 

No, even against Jupiter, I reply, — 

“ Thrice is he armed, who hath his quarrel just.” 

and I am thrice armed in the cause of truth and of 
Homer. 

As in respect to Horace, so in this Homeric question, 
I defer for the present all mere verbal and lexicographi- 
cal disquisition. My future readers will have quite 
enough of it in my forthcoming volumes. But I willingly 
meet the great argument of my very learned and eminent 
critic, as it claims to resJt upon broad, historical and 
critical grounds. 

He boldly maintains that Homer could not have known 
personally anything of champagne — even supposing that 
there was anything resembling it in his day — that 
throughout his two epics he never intimates in himself or 
in his heroes any taste or conribisseurship in wine, though 
he describes the drinking of a good deal of it, to which 
he gives various indiscriminating epithets, as 4 4 pleasant,” 


OXYPORlAN WINES. 


203 


“sweet,” “divine,” “dark,” or “red.” Above all, it is 
asserted that he betrays the grossest ignorance on its use 
in making his venerable Nestor (who should have known 
better) mix grated cheese with his old Pramnian wine. 

Before entering on the wider field of discussion, I must 
briefly refute this last wholly unsound objection. It is 
easily and quickly done. Any reader who will carefully 
read the whole of the eleventh book of the Iliad, either 
in the original or in any tolerably faithful translation — 
even in Pope’s brilliant but commonly loose paraphrase — 
will see at once that this preparation of old wine, thick- 
ened with grated goat’s milk cheese, and flour, which 
Nestor took with his wounded friend after their escape 
from battle, was clearly a medical prescription prepared 
under the professional direction of Machaon, who was 
surgeon-general of the Greek allied army, as well as 
commanding colonel of his own and his brother’s contin- 
gent. Machaon had a flesh wound ; Nestor, a very old 
man, was prostrated by fatigue and fright. 

The word used is xbxetov, meaning a compound potion, 
and Pope with far more precision than is usual with him, 
renders it “the draught prescribed.” I cannot help 
thinking that this happy version was suggested to the 
poet by his scholarly medical friend Dr. Arbuthnot, to 
whom he and Swift often expressed their warm acknowl- 
edgments for services, medical, literary, and social: — 

“ the kind Arbuthnot’s aid, 

Who knows his art, but not his trade.” 


204 


OXYPORIAN "WINES. 


Dr. Holmes may very probably sneer at the prescribed 
mixture, and I will not pretend to defend it, for that is 
not in my line. But Machaon was a physician of great 
eminence in his day, and seems to have anticipated the 
doctrines of Brown or of Broussais, and to have been 
inclined to a bold practice in stimulants. As a surgeon, 
he stood at the very head of his profession. Besides, 
this was his prescription foir himself, as well as for his 
friend ,' and when the physician thus shares with his pa- 
tient the risk or the benefit of his potion, even Dr. 
Holmes, heretic in medical faith as he is, will allow that 
the patient may venture boldly to swallow whatever may 
be ordered. I trust that Dr. Watson will discuss this 
whole question in the next edition of his Medical Pro- 
fession in Ancient Times . In the meanwhile, enough 
has been said to exonerate both Homer and the Pylian 
sage from the charge of heathenish ignorance in regard 
to wine. 

Indeed as to Nestor, even if the poet’s frequent testi- 
monials in the Iliad to _ his wisdom and vast knowledge 
earned by old experience, are not enough to exempt him 
from any suspicion of gross ignorance in respect to good 
wine, he himself has given ample proof of his las e and 
judgment in such matters in the Odyssey. When the 
son of Ulysses, in that epic, visits Nestor at his home in 
Pylos, he finds the aged chief presiding at a grand sacri- 
fice and banquet. Before Nestor knows who his guest is 
he greets him kindly, and besides ordering for him and 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


205 


his friend a choice portion of the feast, gives them a 
goblet bumper of Malmsey Madeira. 

Here I must pause and explain, to prevent the barking 
of small critics. Homer calls the wine — “honey- 

sweet ” — which proves it to have been a luscious, sweet, 
fruity wine ; and all who are at all learned in the history 
of grape culture know that the Malmsey of Madeira is 
the product of a vine in Madeira, originally imported 
from the district of Malvasia, in the Peloponesus, which 
lay within Nestor’s own territory. From Malvasia came 
the Spanish and Portuguese name of the wine, Malvasio ; 
thence the old French Malvoisie, and thence Malmsey, 
Pardon this apparent pedantry ; the digression is forced 
upon me. Nestor gives his unknown guests, with all the 
rest of the crowd, plenty of new, pleasant, and sweet 
Malmsey of his own growth ; but afterward, when he 
knew that the son of his old friend was his guest, he 
gives him a more select entertainment with his family:— 

“ Filling high the cups 

With wine delicious, which the butler-dame 
Who kept his stores, in its eleventh year, 

Now first did broach.” 

In that compound of my own manufacture, “Butler- 
dame,” I have aimed at clearly defining, the office con- 
fided to confidential old ladies in well-regulated house- 
holds in Greece, like Nestor’s. Homer in his original 
Greek expresses the office, here and in seven or eight 
other places by the female substantive T The Eng- 


206 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


lish and French translators all omit or slur it over, as if 
it was not genteel to have a female butler. The German 
translators on the contrary, honestly use the resources 
of their noble language, as copious and flexible as the 
Greek, in its compounds, but give a rather broader sense, 
by die haus-hof meisterin . But I was not aware till 
after I had made my translation that the best Dutch 
translator, — the illustrious Yondel, theDryden of Holland, 
had formed a word of his own precisely parallel to my 
own, though more sonorous and musical, “de schenckster - 
vrouw. But I must restrain myself on these tempting 
verbal digressipns (as I have done in my classical quota- 
tions), lest I should incur the Shakspearean sarcasm, he 
“has been at a great feast of languages and stolen the 
scraps.” Let us return to Nestor. 

Nestor never dreamed of giving his guests wine-whey, 
such as he had taken, according to prescription, nor does 
he offer them any grated cheese to mix with their new 
Malmsey, or their eleven years’ old Pylian Particular. 

Then, as to Homer’s personal opportunities of becom- 
ing practically familiar with the good wines of his times, 
is it possible that my erudite critic imagines Homer to 
have led a straggling beggar-like life, like an Italian 
organ-grinder? The great bard has himself described 
his own status and habitual life in the picture he gives of 
the blind bard Domodoius, and the 'respect with which 
he is received, and the luxury he shares in at the sump- 
tuous court of the good king Alcinous. Like him Ho- 


OXYPOKIAN WINES. 


207 


mer himself passed from the table of one king, prince, 
potentate or laird to that of another, faring sumptuously 
every day, and thus becoming as familiar with the qualities 
of the several Chian, Lesbian, Thrasian, Pramnian and 
Pylian vintages, as our acquaintance Thackeray did with 
the old Madeiras of Boston, Salem, Richmond, and 
Charleston, or the choice Bordeaux and Rhine wines of 
recherche tables in New York. 

I might quote an hundred scattered lines in the Iliad to 
prove this. But why dwell upon minor points of evidence ? 
“The greatest is behind.” While Homer ascribes this 
good taste and knowledge of good wine to -his wisest old 
man, has he not distinguished that hero, who is second 
only in rank to Achilles, by his taste and judgment in the 
same line ? Do not the plot and the interest of the second 
great epic depend mainly upon this characteristic of its 
hero, and the just pride he feels in his good cellar ? 

Alas ! I ask these questions as if the answer was 
familiar to all who read Homer even in the translations 
of Pope or Cowper. Alas ! alas ! I do not know that a 
single critic, or annotator, has explained — any Greek in- 
structor or professor here or even in Germany has made 
his students familiar with this great feature of Homer’s 
domestic epic, the Odyssey, and of its hero Ulysses. 

Nevertheless, the filial piety of Virgil’s iEneas — the 
deep melancholy love of Tasso’s Tancredi — the “noble 
mind,” “the courtier’s, scholar’s, soldier’s eye, tongue, 
sword,” of the accomplished Hamlet are none of them 


208 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


bo. essential a part of these several characters aftd of their 
eventful stories, as are to the character and story of 
Ulysses, his taste and skill in wine, his judgment in its 
management and use, and the deep interest which he 
manifests in his own fine and carefully selected stock. 

In the very beginning of the Odyssey, before Ulysses 
himself appears on the scene, the poet, to make his reader 
acquainted with his hero’s character, introduces him into 
the wine-room of the long-absent chief. It is quite 
worthy of remark that he is the only king or chief men- 
tioned in either great epic, except Nestor, who had a 
regular, well-ordered wine-room, or cellar. These few 
chiefs, I must remind my readers, are repeatedly desig- 
nated by the great poet, as the wisest of all the Greeks, 
so adjudged by the common voice — Nestor, from his va- 
ried experience and the collected wisdom he had gathered 
during the few generations of men among whom he had 
lived. Ulysses, from his own native sagacity. No other 
Greeks compared with them either in general wisdom, 
or in judgment in the choice or care of their wines. 

Achilles, for instance, was a model of gentlemanly 
hospitality, carved beautifully, and gave his guests the 
best wine that force or money could get ; but he had no 
stock of it, and did not know how to manage it, if he had 
it. Not so the “much-contriving” Ulysses. 

Before Ulysses enters upon the scene, his son, Telema- 
chus is described as preparing for a secret voyage in 
search of his long-absent father, and this affords Homer 


OXYPORIAN WINES, p 


209 


an opportunity to paint in anticipation, though indi~ 
rectly, the most striking peculiarities of his hero. His 
cellar, or wine-room (for it appears to have been above 
ground, though on the ground-floor), is superintended, 
like that of Nestor, by an aged female butler. I am not 
quite satisfied with any translator, and I render the lines 
thus : — 

“ Down to a broad, high room, the youth descends, 

His father’s store-room, where his treasures lay 
There stood against the wall, in order ranged, 

Casks of age-ripened wine, fit for the gods, 

The grape’s pure juice, from every mixture free." 

The good young man, who had been well brought up 
by his mother, according to his father’s precepts and 
example, thus gave order touching the providing for his 
ship : — * 

“ Fill up these demijohns ; draw off bright wine- 
Our best, next after that thou dost reserve 
Hapless Ulysses, still expecting home ; 

If, death escaping, he shall e’er return, 

Fill twelve, then fit them all with stoppers tight.” 

I translate as literally as metre will permit, in honest, 
“ English verse, without rhyme ” (as Milton phrases it), 
in the hope of preserving these minutely graphic touches 
of the great poet, who always narrates to the eye, and 
in turn displays “ la terribil via ,” the grand and terrible 
manner of Michael Angelo, or the grace, dignity and 

14 


210 


OXYPORIAN WINBS. 


expression of Raphael, and then rivals the most pains-- 
taking Dutch or Flemish painter in his careful details of 
the butchery, the barn-yard, the market, the kitchen or 
the wine cellar. 

I flatter myself that in spite of the obvious difficulty 
of such passages, I have, in the above and my other 
scraps of Homeric versions, succeeded in expressing some 
exquisite details which Pope’s rhymes have polished into 
vague smoothness, and Cowper’s more faithful, but too 
uniformly Miltonic, blank verse has failed to render. 

After this preliminary sketch of the “many planning” 
XJlysses, we find him everywhere taking his wine like a 
gentleman, never in any excess, but always with good 
taste, whether at the table of the magnificent king of 
Pharacia or at the humble fireside of the keeper of his 
own hogs. *He avoids the snares of Circe by refusing to 
drink her brewed and drugged liquor. When he ex- 
plored the land of the Cyclops, he took with him a goat- 
skin of high proof brandy, given him by the priest of 
Apollo, which he used only in case of accidents. I say 
“ brandy for though Homer calls it wine, that must 
have been from delicacy toward the reverend gentleman, 
for the poet expressly says that the worthy priest and his 
wife were wont : — 

“ Whene’er they quaffed that dark, delicious juice. 

To slake each cup with twenty from the fount, 

Yet the slaked bowl sweet odor shed around, 

Divine, enticing.” 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


211 


Another proof of the true nature of this “wine,” as 
Homer delicately calls it, is to be seen in the care with 
which the good priest kept it out of the way of all his 
servants, reserving it for the private drinking of himself 
and wife, of course in all moderation. 

“ Of that pure drink, fit for the gods, no one 
Of all his household, male or female knew, 

Save only he, his - wife and butler-dame.” 

By the way, this priest of Apollo 4 seems to have been 
a sort of prince-bishop, keeping a large establishment of 
men and women servants. Yet he, too, like Nestor and 
Ulysses, put his choice liquors and stores under the care 
of a* butleress, or, as I have preferred to render it in a 
more Homeric phrase, and in the spirit of the Greek 
compound, a Butler-dame. 

But Ulysses took none of this brandy himself, nor gave 
it to his men, but when he got into a scrape with the 
giant Cyclops, he dosed the huge cannibal with it quite 
raw, which soon made him tipsy (or, as the original ex- 
presses it with philosophical accuracy “came around his 
brain,’*) then puts him to sleep, when Ulysses puts out 
his great single eye, and escapes. 

When he reaches home incog., he learns with indigna- 
tion the suit of the petty chiefs of Ithaca to his supposed 
widow, their wasteful depredations upon his goods and 
chattels, especially his cattle and hogs, and their insults 
to his only son ; but he does not explode in full wrath till 
he hears of the wasteful abuse of his wines — the olvov 


212 


OXYIORIAN WINES. 


§ia(f)v<T(r6ji£vov (as he says with the precision of a careful wine 
merchant), his good wine “drawn off.” This he de- 
nounces as the “ unkindest cut of all.” He successively 

recounts his wrongs from the suitors of his wife : — 

• 

“ Their shameless acts, guests roughly drawn away 
Through all the house, gross insults to the maids, 

Provision gormandized day after day : 

The wine drawn off ! drunk up with monstrous waste, 

• Enormous, without stint, or taste, or end.” 

Od. XVL 

I have not time nor space to note his other expressions 
of wrath on the same topic. 

It is, therefore, with admirable fitness that the poet 
makes Ulysses defer the hour of his final vengeance till 
he sees his palace filled with revelry, and the wine cup 
crowned with his own best vintages, lifted high and passed 
around by the insolent invaders of his home and his 
honor. Then it is, when the loudest and boldest of these 
revelers lifts to his head a huge two-handled goblet of 
choice “Ithaca Reserve” that he, who had long watched 
these scenes in suppressed wrath, and in the guise and 
garb of a beggar, now “throws off his patience and 
his rags together,” rises from the mendicant into the 
monarch, and from his mighty bow showers around winged 
arrowy vengeance upon the wretches who had essayed to 
win the affections of his wife, who had plundered his 
possessions, who had wronged and insulted his darling 
culy son, and who had swilled, without appreciating it, 


OXYPORIAN WINES. 


213 


pipe after pipe of his much prized wine, all of it carefully 
selected, in splendid condition, and most of it more than 
twenty years old. 

And this is the Homer who had no taste, judgment, 
feeling, or knowledge in wine ! 

But I have said more than enough on these topics. 
Those who wish to know still more on them must be con- 
tent to wait until the publication of my “Lectures on 
Homeric Literature,” unless, indeed, I should find time 
to comply with the urgent solicitations of your great pub- 
lishers — the Appletons — and supply the article Ulysses 
for the American Cyclopsedia. I have done with all 
journalistic controversy. I have floored my adversaries, 
and may now say like Virgil’s veteran pugilist : — . 

“Hie victor cestus artemque, repono;” 

or, as I have rendered the line in my yet unpublished 
translation of Virgil : — 

“ Still Victor, Champion, now with pride 

My science and my gloves I lay aside.” 

Very truly your friend, 


XXVII. 


JUl' jFitst 3Drama. 

« 0W I came to take a fancy to do it I do not know, 
but I always did have a fancy for the stage. So 
at the early age of say ten, or it might have been 
eleven, more or less, I was the owner of a theatre, and 
manager of a company, with scenery, properties, flies, flats, 
wings, traps, and all the equipments, gear and rigging 
necessary to produce a play in superior style. The pro- 
scenium was a very grand affair, rich in red curtains and 
gilt side-boxes, and the arch over the centre laid off in 
gorgeous panels of blue and gamboge. The side-scenes 
and flats were by Mr. Figg, No. 11 Cheapside, London, 
and . the performers were also by the same eminent artist : 
in sheets, sixpence, plain ; one shilling, colored. 

Didn’t I make a mistake when I bought the plain 
sheets and undertook to color them myself? Why, it was 
not in the capacity of a boy’s paint-box to put such colors 
on the characters as those done at the London establish- 
ment. Take, for instance, Count Frederic Friberg’s hus- 
sar tights and jackets ? When did §ver color-man put a 
cake of carmine in a boy’s paint-box that would equal the 
* richness of that London crimson ? And then the red sack 
that gracefully fell from the top of his shako. And Karl, 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 


215 


his man, had a red jacket, too, laced over with gamboge 
and worsted. And the head miller, Grindoff, alias the 
head robber, Wolf, in his red -top Ronaldi tunic (second 
dress), — what would he have looked like in pale pink, in- 
stead of his flaming tunic and sash, and flamingo-feather 
in his slouch of a slouched hat ? I tell you, if you expect 
to make an impression in your minor theatre, you must 
have plenty of carmine in your dressed! Why, they do 
that on the greater stage — yes, and plenty of red fire, too. 

The play, of course, was that favorite of everybody’s 
earlier days, “ The Miller and his Men.” You know the 
opening chorus, — 

“ When the wind blowowowses, 

Then the mill gowowowses ; 

When the wind blows, then the mill goes, 

Our hearts are all light and merry ; 

When the wind drowowops, 

Then the mill stowowops: 

When the wind drops, then the mill stops, 

We’ll drink and sing, hey, down deny! 

We’ll drink and sing, hey, down derry! 

Down deny, down derry, down* derry ! 

Down derry ” — 

and ever so many downs, and ever so many derry s. 

The theatre was made out of an old wooden candle-box, 
turned upside down so as to afford play for the stage-man- 
ager’s hand to work the actors from beneath. The pro- 
scenium was nailed to one end of the box, the bottom 
being removed ; the stage was made of slats, nailed cross- 
ways ; the side-scenes were glued to bits of wood that 
fitted in grooves on each side, and the curtains, the sky, 
and the big back-scenes were suspended by strings that; 


216 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 


ran through pulleys of bent pins, that were hammered with 
infinite trouble into the frame-work that surrounded this 
temple of art. The sheets of scenery being pasted upon 
pasteboard, afforded a delightful and gay task to cut out 
the figures of trees and rocks, bridges and cottages, in set 
scenes ; but, like many another manager, didn’t I have 
trouble with my dramatis personce ? I tell you, when I 
had them all pasted on stiff cards, wasn’t it a task to cut 
out their little legs without injuring their symmetry. Let 
anybody try— I do not care how skillful an artist he may 
be — no, not even if he has the genius of Michael An- 
gelo. — just let him try to cut out the small spaces between 
the calves of pasteboard actors, and if it does not make his 
heart sick before he finishes them, then I am no stage- 
manager ! 

But the crowning glory of the whole affair was the mill. 
It stood in four rows of set waters, on a set rock, and in 
the description of scenery was called “working.” That 
meant that the mill was a wind-mill, with four wings to 
move around during the whole performance. Why didn’t 
the author, Mr. Pocock, make it a water-mill at once ? 
But to turn a wire crank to keep the figures going, and 
work the millers, with sacks of flour on their backs, across 
the bridge and into the cav.ern ninder the mill, and to work 
the boat across the stage in four rows of set water, and 
sing the opening chorus of — 

“ When the wind blowowowses ” — 

and to attend to getting old Kelmar on the stage properly 
through the fourth slat from the footlights — it does tax 
one’s energies to set them in motion and to keep them in 
-motion at one time. 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 


217 


Of course everybody knows the plot of this famous 
melodrama, and therefore I will not attempt to repeat it, 
but it begins in this way : Old Kelmar has a beautiful 
daughter, Claudine, who is in love with, and is loved by 
a young peasant, by name Lothair. The head miller, 
Grindoff, is in love with Claudine also, but he has an un- 
disposed lot on his hands in the person of a former flame 
named Ravina — and when 1 say a flame I mean it — in a 
brown slashed skirt trimmed with black, two brass clasps 
to slashes, and red petticoat showing through. The miller 
and his men are all robbers. As millers, they steal meal 
all day from the farmers ; and as robbers, they steal all 
night from the rest of the public, thus doing a heavy busi- 
ness. Under the broad, white hat of the miller, Grindoff 
wore the black, corkscrew curls of Wolf, the bandit. 
Under his peaceful, white smock-frock were concealed an 
iron breast-plate, a pair of pistols, and all the pestilent 
passions that poison the pericardium of a professional pil- 
ferer. The miller’s men are all dressed in smock-frocks 
— with robber-costumes beneath, of course. Count Fred- 
erick Friberg, with his man Karl (comic), have lost their 
horses and their way in the deepest kind of a Bohemian 
forest. (Notice, that it is a common practice with actors 
to lose their horses in such places.) They travel on foot 
during a thunder-storm to the cottage of old Kelmar, 
Claudine ’s father ; get a night’s lodging on two chairs be- 
fore the fire, and are dogged by the robbers, who determine 
to kill them — for Count Friberg is a very vigilant magis- 
trate, and intends to root up the robbers and destroy their 
little trade. Grindoff, however, fails to kill the count, but, 


218 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 


inspired by lave, carries off Claudine to his den. Lothair 
disguises himself, and joins the robbers to rescue Claudine. 
Here he finds Ravina getting ready to administer a little 
comfort to his lady-love in the shape of a cup of cold pisin. 
This he dashes from her hand, and persuades her to enjoy 
a sweeter revenge — namely, to blow up old Grindoff lei- 
surely, and all his men, as well as the mill, and any number 
of barrels of family-flour, marked extra and extra-super- 
fine. For this purpose a fuse is laid in the crevices of the 
rocks connected with the magazine, which Ravina is to 
touch off when all is ready. In the mean time, old numb- 
skull Kelmar, who has been wandering about, calling out 
“ Me cheild! me cheild ! ” falls in with a company of Fri- 
berg’s dragoons, who have also lost their horses, and brings 
them to the mill in the nick of time. The last scene was 
a wasted piece of stage effect. The mill being made to 
blow up, it had another mill behind it, all wire and red 
tinsel. The fuse communicated with a large fire-cracker 
which was to cause the explosion, and half a dozen other 
broken in two for the purpose of keeping up the illusion, 
by fizzing in small detachments behind the pasteboard 
rocks around the mill. Ah ! it was a moment of unparal- 
leled excitement when, at the last, the robbers swarm 
around the mill — the Friberg dragoon muskets are pointed 
at them — Claudine is snatched from the arms of Grindoff 
by Lothair, who dashes with his lovely prize across the 
bridge and shouts out, u Now, Ravina , fire the train ! ” Fuf 
— fuf — f fuf goes the fuse. Bang! goes the big fire-cracker. 
Fizz, fizz, fizz, and the demi-crackers are sparkling up into 
small fountains of fire, when the old mill blows up in sec- 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 219 

tions, disclosing the jagged edges of its tinsel substitute, 
and the orchestra plays 

“ When the wind blow-owes ” 

on a fine tooth comb. Some difficulty was experienced at 
first in getting the performers to move easily in the slats, 
and as many of them came on sideways, they had to ske- 
daddle back again in the same fashion when the dialogue 
was over. Count Frederick Friberg having his left arm 
under a blue fly — a short hussar cloak, with the elbow 
sticking out like a derrick — had to elbow his way on the 
stage, and when he retired the last thing seen of him was 
his elbow and the angle of the blue fly. But the play was 
a great success. It took three mortal hours to perform it, 
and I was never tired of the performance. It was rather 
too much though for two maiden aunts and one maiden 
uncle who came one evening to spend a quiet hour. I 
peeped over the top of the theatre from time to time to see 
how they were enjoying it, and I beheld the three. They 
looked like the three Fates. 

But I had one audience that never tired. Four little 
tin lamps served as footlights — they were not bigger than 
a silver quarter of a dollar in circumference, and about an 
inch thick. No lights were allowed elsewhere in the room, 
and they sufficed for all the stage business. 

^Night after night, a little girl’s face, the lower part in 
shadow, the upper in full light of the lamps, was intently 
watching the performance. Shall I ever forget those large, 
tender, brown eyes, that thoughtful brow, those clustering 
curls, and those patient hands clasped in her lap ? 


220 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 


She used to sit in a high chair, so that the light from the 
stage, thrown upward upon features that were wonderfully 
harmonious, enhanced every dimple, and brought forth in 
strong relief the exquisite tenderness of expression with 
which her face was illuminated. Shall I ever cease to re- 
member Adelaide M , my only audience ? 

To be sure, sometimes the audience interrupted the 
stage business thus : — 

Audience. — “ Who’s that ? — who’s that ? — who’s 
that?” 

Stage-Manager. — “ This is Ravina.” 

Audience. — “ Who is she ? ” 

Stage-Manager. — “ She is the wife of the chief rob- 
ber.” 

(Stage-Manager, as Ravina ) : “ Pity me ! I am, in- 
deed, an objic of compassion. Seven long years a captive, 
hopeless still of li-iber-rty. Habit has almost made my heart 
as these r-rude r-rocks that scr-r-reen me from the light of 
heaven ! Miserable, lost R-ravina ! By dire necessity 
become an agent of their wickedness, yet born for virtue 
and for freedom ! ” 

Audience. — “ What is she saying ? ” 

A small white head reappears over the top of the 
theatre : — 

“ Adelaide, if you don’t pay more attention to what Ra- 
vina is saying, I’ll just let down the curtain, and you sha’n’t 
see the mill blow up.” 

The great success of “ The Miller and his Men ” led me 
to dramatize a story then just published, called “ Karl 
Blewen ; or, The Tall Mariner of the Maelstrom.” It is 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 


221 


astonishing how fond all boys are of stage heroes with 
the name of Karl. The tall mariner, however, was a very 
wicked fellow, and the piece ends with the wretch, when 
at the very height of his villainy, being sucked down into 
the depths of the maelstrom. 

Now, the whirlwind that I made to do Mr. Karl’s final 
business was as big -as a saucer, made of paper in wreaths 
and frills all around the central tube, down which the male- 
factor was to be drawn. The waves were concentric, and 
painted like -waves, — green, with white spray, — and the 
whole revolved around a wire crank under the stage. Of 
course, as whirlpools suck everything down through the 
centre by simply revolving, I supposed all that had to be 
done was- to drop Mr. Blewen into the midst of the vortex, 
whirl him round rapidly, and down he would go. But, 
unfortunately, on the first and only night of the play, the 
chief performer, instead of being whirled down in the hole, 
was whirled out of the whirlpool, and out beyond the foot- 
lights. He was picked up and placed in the maelstrom, 
but he would not “ down.” Every time he was whirled, 
he would whirl out instead of in. So from that time, nei- 
ther Adelaide nor I believed in maelstroms. Any one 
who had witnessed the scenic performance would come 
away satisfied that the centrifugal tendency of a whirlpool 
is just the opposite of what it is supposed to be. 

O ! pensive brown eyes, why do ye still seem to shine 
upon me out of the deeps of shadow, made visible by those 
stage-lamps? Are those the spiritual eyes of Adelaide, 
that, after so many, many years, still appear bending over 
•* her page as vividly, as gentle, and as patient as they did in 


222 


MY FIRST DRAMA. 


years past and gone ? I know that I once stood by a little 
girl’s dying bed, and saw the breast heave with the flicker- 
ing life. I know that I once followed my only audience 
to her little grave in the old church-yard. I know that 
years afterward I took down from the attic the dusty frame 
of what had been a little theatre. The mice had made 
away with scenery and performers; even the maelstrom 
had gone piecemeal, devoured by the ruthless teeth of 
♦Time. The weather stains of many, many years are on 
the gravestone of little Adelaide, but how is it that as I 
write now, I feel all the tender affection of a pure boy 
often toward his first, his dear, his child-sweetheart ? 


XXVIII. 

asaibcs anii fflSicaUjmocttES. 

wind had steadily blown from the northeast, m 
most spiteful manner, for three days : every- 
ng was dripping ; outside of the house, a cold, 
cheerless prospect, from the window, of gray sky, wet and 
leafless trees, and lank evergreens, or of the filtering mois- 
ture soaking through the roots of the lawn-grass, or run- 
ning in little woe-begone rivulets down the carriage-road. 
The clothes-lines, so tense from the moisture that they 
never could be unfastened and coiled away, were obsti- 
nately bent upon trying to uproot the posts to which they 
were tied in the knottiest of knots, that set both finger- 
nails and teeth at defiance. It seemed as if^ one would like 
to go out and thrum a miserable ditty upon them of some 
one that had been hanged, if for no other purpose than in 
sheer spite, to shake off the thousand drops that hung pen- 
dent from the zigzag lines. Everything was reeking: 
the wheelbarrow was drizzly ; the celery-trenches were 
half filled with yellow water ; the windows on the side of 
the barn facing the storm were shut in ; and, on the top 
of the barn, the wooden weathercock (which, by the way, 
was a fish) pointed due — due — due N. E. !* 

We could see it from the dining-room window. Every 



224 


WIVES AND WEATHERCOCKS. 


day we looked at it, and there it was, with its forked tail 
obstinately turned to the S. W. Ah ! as we watched that 
weather-fish, didn’t we keep Lent ! 

The house itself, which is a clever little bit of comfort- 
able architecture in almost all weathers, began to grow 
uncomfortable inside. The fire* did not seem to be as 
cheerful as usual. Talk of contrasts — of the cold, howl- 
ing storm without, and the bright warm fire within — of 
the inclemency of nature on the outside of the door, and 
the blessed, hospitable welcome on the cozy inside ! 
Those ideas are only rhetorical contrasts, not real ! Sup- 
pose you have ever so warm a fire inside, and happen to 
look out of your dining-room window, and there, on your 
barn, is a' weather-fish, with its tail steadily pointing S. 
W., and its head in the opposite direction, will all the 
cozy fires in the world bring happiness to your despairing 
bosom ? And suppose the day was Wednesday, and you 
had invited that dear, old,- bookish prig, Bulgrum, and his 
wife, Mrs. Bulgrum — who is also your wife’s dearest friend 
— and the three little Bulgrums, all girls, to dine with 
you, and partake of a plain country dinner ; and you had 
provided a Bucks’ county turkey, with celery, to say 
nothing of everything else — a plain soup, for instance, to 
begin with, with green peas ; and an oyster pdt£, to help 
your appetite ; cauliflower, as big as a bride’s bouquet, a 
present from the president of a horticultural society; a 
baked ham, with Champagne sauce, to flank the turkey, 
and a bit of Kennebec salmon for the fish ; and as you 
think of the'fish, your visual orb reaches through the glass 
window to that other fish on the bam ; and there he is, 


WIVES AND WEATHERCOCKS. 


225 


with his pertinacious phiz pointing forever — N. E. ! N. 
E. ! N. E. ! 

I would not have minded it so much if Bulgrum, who is 
a careful man about keeping hfs engagements, had not 
said : “ Now mind you, we’ll come if it don’t rain ! ” And 
not only this, but my wife, who is rather particular in her 
•culinary skill, and begins to prepare for a dinner a day be- 
forehand, said to me on Wednesday morning, with a face 
full of falling weather : “ If they don’t come, nothing will 
keep.” 

Now, although Bulgrum, over his wine and cigar, is one 
of the most delightful companions — a perfect scholar and 
accomplished gentleman, a sort of admirable Crichton, in 
fact — a man who will talk, not like a book, but like a li- 
brary of books, and then also talk wonderfully of new things 
never recorded in books ; and his wife, Mrs. Bulgrum, is 
one of the most charming, sensible, pretty, and discreet of 
little women — as good as she is wise,, and as tasteful as 
she fs good-humored and witty ; and the little girls of the 
name of Bulgrum, who are a little like father and a good 
deal like mother ; and we felt how much we all’ would have 
enjoyed their visit to us — for I would have absorbed Bul- 
grum ; my wife would have been knee-to-knee, the whole 
evening, with Mrs. Bulgrum ; and our daughters would 
have taken the three young Bulgrums into their play-room, 
among their dolls’ play-houses, and such a happy time as 
we would have had but for that weather-fish ! 

One being I could make happy. If I could not conjure 
up our ^visitors, I could, at least, bring a happy smile to the 
face of my better half. I determined to do it. She had 
15 • 


226 


WIVES AND WEATHERCOCKS. 


been all the morning in the kitchen — not grumbling ex- 
actly, but smothering her grief by making pies and tarts, 
and attending to the preparation of the dinner generally. 
For she said, if it cleared off in the afternoon, they would 
come in the four-o’clock train ; and so, with her hands full 
of flour, every little while she would give a sorrowful 
glance through the wet kitchen- windows toward the fish 
on the top of the barn. Meantime, I was busy with a 
treatise on Proverbs, in the library, in which I found many 
crumbs of comfort ; and, among the rest, that “ No good 
horse is of a bad color,” and that “ It is an ill wind that 
blows nobody good,” and that u The darkest hour is first be- 
fore day,” and so on ; when I heard my wife’s footstep on 
the stairs, and I knew she was going up into the spare-room 
closet, after the old grandmother coffee-set, which never 
appeared except for company. Now was the time for me ! 

I speedily put myself inside of a pair of mouldy boots 
that had grown blue with the damp weather, and, slipping 
on a kind of a split, pea-jacket, hurried off to the barn, 
armed with a common gimlet. In the roof of the barn 
was a first-class scuttle ; and, climbing a ladder, I squeezed 
through the hole, and was soon in possession of the head- 
strong, obstinate, dogged weathercock-fish, which .stood sen- 
linol on the summit of a little iron rod nailed by a crowfoot 
to the apex of the roof. But I must explain the mechanism 
of a weathercock. You take whatever animal you please 
for a model, and carVe out his image from a shingle or 
other bit of soft wood. Then you bore a hole underneath 
and in the exact centre of him; or, if you haven’t a gim- 
det, you can heat the end of the kitchen-poker and burn 


WIVES AND WEATHERCOCKS. 


227 


out a socket about two inches deep, and a quarter of an 
inch in diameter. If your poker is too large, get the vil- 
lage blacksmith to alter it for you. When your weather- 
cock is all ready, just put up somewhere on the roof of 
your barn an upright wire that will fit the socket, upon 
which you can slip your vane, and try it. When tire wind 
comes, if you have balanced him exactly upon his centre, 
you will find that he will point, head or tail, the way of the 
wind, just as it happens. So you will have to take him off 
again, and make the pivotal aperture a little on # one side of 
the centre, nearer the head or tail, and you will find that 
the longest part of the pointer will always be turned to the 
quarter of the heavens opposite to that from which the wind 
comes. The fact is, that the true philosophy of the con- 
duct of a weathercock is not to show which way the wind 
is going, but which way the current of wind has gone. In 
this respect, it resembles the teachings of experience. 
Now, all I had to do with our weathercock was to bore a 
. hole a couple of inches abaft the centre, so as to make the 
head-part longest and heaviest, and then the tail would 
point to the northeast and the head to the southwest. I 
did so, set him on his pivot. again, scrambled down the lad- 
der, and as soon as possible got to the house without' dis- 
covery. 

By and by my wife came down -stairs with a basketful 
of coffee-cups. I could hear her in the dining-room busy 
with them, putting them to rights on the beaufet. Just 
then, as if to add a little to the delusion, the rain held up 
for a brief interval. And then I heard her ! she was com- 
ing ! she broke into my room in a storm of joy, seized me 


228 


WIVES AND WEATHERCOCKS. 


by the arm, and, drawing me into the dining-room, pointed 
through the moist window at the faithless monitor on the 
roof, and, with her eyes beaming with delight, said : “ The 
wind has shifted ! O ! ” she continued, “ I had a pre- 
sentiment they would come after all. It is only one o’clock 
now, and plenty of time for them to get off ! ” Although 
it rained nearly all that blessed afternoon, my wife was 
happy whenever the weathercock met her eye. It was the 
signal of hope, of blue sky and balmy breezes. And soon, 
when train after train had passed, and we sat down to 
dinner, with five empty chairs instead of guests, and I told 
the truth about the weathercock, yet was my wife no less 
pleased. “ Since you did it to please me,” she said, “ I 
have no fault to find with that deceitful weathercock.” So 
we all had a happy dinner, and drank the health of the 
Bulgrums ; and I fumigated the library with a fragrant 
cigar afterward, and arrived at the sage conclusion that if 
husbands would only try to please their wives a little, and 
not have their weathercocks always pointing northeast, 
that there would be more happy households in the world 
and cheerful firesides, in spite of outside rain-storms. 


xxfx. 



Jhttrian Summer — JTOjen? 

jHE^f the woods begin to change, and nature, like 
the dying dolphin, puts on its richest hues, and 
the sunsets are gorgeous, and the smokelike vapor 
begins to gather on lake and watercourses, and* cicada have 
hushed their evening orchestra, and the bullfrogs have 
ceased to pipe, and you sometimes see, at early dawn, hoar- 
frost on the meadow — that is Indian Summer ! 

Or later, when the dried leaves, slowly winding down 
from branch to earth, strip the forlorn tree, and the brown 
and sturdy oak rustles bravely with its rusty foliage ; and 
the green grass is strewn with the pointed tawny leaves of 
the chestnut, and the highway roads grow crisp, and echo 
to the wheels of vehicles, and the sky and river seem as if 
they uever could be so blue, and a thin haze hangs in the 
air — then we know that it is Indian Summer*! * 

Or later — when the trees are all stripped, and their 
skeletons stand motionless in the still air, and the open 
chestnut burs still remain upon the ground ; when all the 
leaves have been blown into heaps or ridges, and wreaths 
of smoke begin to curl up from rural chimneys, and all the 
birds but unusual flocks of sparrows have flown, and the 
nights are cool with frosty stars, and the days humid and 
hazy — then that is the Indian Summer ! 


4 


230 


INDIAN SUMMER — WHEN? 


Or later — when the grass itself begins to grow gray, 
and the clouds grow ashy and threatening, and the river 
looks cold and ghastly, and the roads are in flinty ridges, 
and a flurry of snow has scared away the sparrows, and 
coal and kindling-wood advance in price, and butchers grow 
rosy, and meat is exorbitant, and poultry is firm in price, 
and everybody says this is the first touch of winter; and, 
suddenly, the clouds break, and the yellow sun comes out 
like a bridegroom rejoicing, and warms up ag&in the dull 
earth and the hearts of men ; and the blue vapor is seen 
again in the heart of the shadowy woods. Then, every- 
body says, this is the Indian Summer ! 

Or later — when December has arrived, and we begin 
to overhaul the furry robes of the stable, and horses have 
to be carefully blanketed when they cease to trot, and 
men find now what overcoats were made for, and children 
understand how kind was grandmother’s forethought when 
she knitted the mittens — and the wind howls, and the 
snow flies, and the rain and sleet becomes blinding, and 
the lightning ceases to flash, and the thunder to explode in 
the sky, and then warm and humid weather reappears, 
and the mist rises, and, enveloping with its magic veil 
river, cliffs, woods, and plain, so that imagination tricks up 
the barren landscape with herbage, flower, and foliage, and 
we see in the flushing clouds the roseate hues of gardens, 
and once more the misty plains seem tempting to the tooth 
of grazing animals, and the foggy woods appear to be re- 
loaded with foliage, and the bright squirrel comes from his 
hiding-place, and now and then a solitary wasp crawls on 
the window-plane, and we begin to think we have been 




i 


INDIAN SUMMER — WHEN ? 


231 


premature with blankets, and we sit by open windows, and 
let the fire in the house-furnace fret itself to ashes, and we 
begin to anticipate the mildest of winters, then everybody 
says that is the Indian Summer ! 

When, then, is Indian Summer ? Is it in the full change 
of the green leaf to the infinite hues of October ? Is it in 
the November month, — 

“ Ere o’er the frozen earth the loud winds run, 

Or snows are sifted o’er the meadows bare,” — 

that it comes, like a plumed and painted warrior ; or is it 
far beyond this period, even in the bleak December, that 
this most poetical of seasons appears, with magic touch, to 
spread a halo over our American landscapes ? Is it not a 
blessed thing — one to subdue the heart with love and 
gratitude — that we have not one Indian Summer alone, 
but many ; that, during the dreary months, this beautiful 
vision comes and goes, and reappears and vanishes, not 
like the hectic flush of decaying life, but anticipating, as 
it were, the rosy days of future summers ? Is it not a 
delightful source of happiness to know that, even amid the 
cold and tempestuous future, some days will be bright and 
brief seasons of themselves — not singly, but followed by 
many other days of gorgeous beauty — a succession, as it 
were, of Indian summers ? It is an error to suppose that 
the colored foliage is the work of frost or decay. I have 
seen the leaves turn, at the appointed season, when not a 
crvstal of frost has touched a blade of grass — when the 
days and nights were warm as many in midsummer. It 
is because the time has come for the ripening of the leaf,, 


232 


INDIAN SUMMER — WHEN? 


as it has come for the ripening of the cheek of a Flemish 
beauty, or a Duchesse D’Angouleme. 

Thank the Creator of all seasons that we have dozens 
of Indian summers between October and January. 

But do not look for them after the last d&y 0 f Decem- 
ber. After Christmas, comes the New Year, and no more 
summers. But it is- still a season of hope. In January, 
when the sun gets stronger, and the days grow longer, 
then we begin to look for Spring ! — for the early crocus 
blooming amid the snow — for the “ resurrection of the 
eartli ” — -for the tiny bluebird building its hopeful nest — 
for the ploughed mould and fructifying showers. Such, 
even, is human life. Many a heart grows prematurely 
wintry, desolate, and cold, while others, in advanced age, 
carry with them a sort of frost-bitten bloom, and live and 
bask in an atmosphere of Indian summers. 


XXX. 


Ha (Crnfje. 

f N the city of Paris there is a street that runs parallel 
with the Louvre, the garden of the Tuileries, and 
the Champs Elysdes (or Elysian Fields), just one 
block apart from them, and called by the name of Rue St. 
Honors. It was one bright and beautiful morning that I 
walked up this street with a friend of mine, who then 
resided in this famous city. You will see,” said he, “ a 
great deal that is vile and wicked in Paris, if you take the 
trouble to look for it ; but you will also find a great deal 
that is good, noble, and benevolent, if you will take the 
same trouble ; although I must say that foreign visitors do 
not care much to find out what is really good and worthy 
of visiting here, preferring instead to indulge their curiosity 
in other and less reputable objects.” So saying, he led 
me through a door up one flight of* stairs into a spacious 
room, that at once filled me with surprise and delight. 

For standing endwise against the walls of the room, on 
every side, were beautiful little swinging cradles, nearly 
all of light iron-work, and painted of various colors — 
blue, green, white, and gold, and other gay tints, with tiny 
white sheets, blankets, and pillows, and nestled amid the 
soft, warm coverings was such a multitude of rosy faces, 


284 


LA CRECHE. 


nearly all of them fast asleep, that what with the bright 
day shining through the tall windows, and the bright 
cradles, and the exquisitely clean room, and the little 
heads and closed eyelids, and rosy cheeks and lips of this 
baby congregation around, one could scarcely be unmoved, 
even if he were an American, and his own little ones were 
no nearer to him than three thousand miles beyond the 
salt sea ! 

Nor was the surprise of seeing so many swinging 
cradles at all diminished by reading the illustrious names 
attached to them ; for every one had a plate or card, upon 
which was engraved or inscribed the name of some juve- 
nile of illustrious birth : for instance, the one on my right, 
as I entered, bore the name of the young Prince Imperial, 
and others, on every side, exhibiting some title of nobility 
belonging to the tender morning glories of the Empire. 
“So, then,’’ said I, “here lies the flower of the young 
noblesse of France ! ” Here are the infant emperors, 
princes,' dukes, marquises, and counts of the Napoleonic 
dynasty. Alas ! -where are the young Bourbons, the 
Orleans, the Montpensiers, the Joinvilles, the Mont- 
morencies ? By my faith, the children of people of rank 
are always beautiful ; there is a something so distinguished- 
looking in their countenances, even when asleep, that you 
at once recognize the difference ’ between them and the 
children of ordinary people ! 

A few of the youthful dukes and princes 'were wide 
awake, and sitting bolt upright in their cribs, while quite 
a rosy ring of urchins were seated on the clean wax floor, 
all with round, shining eyes, and little black heads, and 


LA CRECHE. 


235 


blooming cheeks; but, to my surprise, not among them 
all was a note of complaint uttered, a cry of pain, an ex- 
clamation of fretfulness. All looked happy, clean, and 
content. But it seemed to me they were awfully serious 
— staring at us with haughty looks, as if impressed with 
the dignity of their positions in life. 

A couple of bright, apple-faced nuns of the Order of 
St. Th6r£se, clad in yellow stuff gown, with keys, rosaries, 
scissors, pincushions, or other useful articles, hanging from 
their girdles, were bustling about among the callous com- 
munity, as full of goodness and mirth and cheerful conver- 
sation, as if they had been veritable mothers themselves. 
The whole establishment, one of them said, was under 
the immediate protection of the Empress, as well as 
seventeen other creches in the city. They were benevo- 
lent institutions, where poor mothers could deposit their 
babies in the morning, before going to their daily work, 
returning to nurse them at proper hours, and then to take 
them hortie in the evening. When they are brought to 
La Creche in the morning, they are washed, dressed, fed, 
and attended to during the whole day, medical attendance 
provided, if necessary, for all of which the mother pays, 
only two sous (or two cents). This institution takes 
charge of sixty children a day, none of which, T believe, 
are over two years of age. The swing-cradles are the 
gifts of benevolent ladies, many of them of high rank, 
and are given in the name of their own little ones. “ See 
here,’’ she said, pointing to the first one that attracted my 
attention, “ a cradle from the Empress herself! ” 

So, then, these are not children of noble blood, but only 


236 


LA CRECHE. 


foundlings of washerwomen and seamstresses. I thought 
from the first they all had a sort of plebeian look ! “ Par- 

don me, monsieur,” said Sistet Agathe, “ these are not 
foundlings. Their mothers are very poor ; but they may 
be very respectable.* And when they take their infants 
away at night, ah ! monsieur should see how happy the 
poor mothers are to get them back once more — hugging 
them as if they never, never wanted to part with them 
again ! ” 

It was a beautiful thought to give these institutions the 
name they bear ; for La Creche signifies a manger,” and 
at once brings to mind ’the heavenly manger in which the 
young Saviour — himself a child of the poor — was care- 
fully laid by his virgin mother. 

Such institutions as La Creche do not foster crime ; but 
they may be the means of preventing hundreds of thou- 
sands of cases of infanticide ; they may prevent many 
cases of suicide ; they may even bind fathers and mothers 
together by stronger ties than those which are too often 
separated by misery and hepelessness. Little children 
soon grow large enough to take care of themselves, and 
even to add to the support of a family. But while they 
are infants, and helpless, and poor, and friendless, protect 
them for a*little while, O ye benevolent ! 

I turned from La Creche with a happy heart, to think 
that even in this vast and vicious ci^y the little ones were 
not altogether unprovided for ; that even in the midst of 
toil and privation, Parisian mothers could look forward to 
the rising of the morning’s sun with hope and gratitude ; 
and as I then thought of my own country, a cloud dark- 


DA CRECHE. 


237 


i 


ened my spirit, and I said : w Would to God we had a 
day-by-day asylum, such as this, in the midst of our popu- 
lous and thriving cities ! If we had, how many a poor 
mother’s heart would be lightened over her daily work, 
and how many a rich woman’s heart would feel glorified 
in ministering to such a charity ! Surely there are plenty 
of benevolent ladies who would contribute a cradle a-piece ! 
Surely there are plenty of benevolent gentlemen who 
would gladly lend their aid to support such a building ; 
the expense of nurses would not be much — indeed, how 
many poor women would be too happy to embrace such a 
situation ? And then to think of the good it might do ; 
of the crimes it might prevent ! 


XXXI. 


<£gp m&. 

t X artist friend of mine, who was engaged in the 
composition of a large picture, representing a 
gypsy camp, told me that he had travelled in 
America some hundreds of miles in search of these singu- 
lar people, who, it seems, have at last crossed the Atlantic 
and now form a new element in our heterogeneous popu- 
lation. But, like Evangeline, he never found more than 
the place where they had been. Gypsies are a wandering 
race, and have an instinct of moving from place to place 
— probably a little quickened by a wholesome fear of the 
town constable. The artist also informed me that, at 
present, gypsies are becoming quite numerous here, and 
that already there are two kings of the gypsies controlling 
two branches of this vagabond race in this country. I 
ventured to suggest that this idea of their being numerous 
was probably owing to the fact that they wandered about, 
and so were counted several times over, like the Irish- 
man’s flea. However, be it as it may, he never found his 
encampment ; and began his sketch from recollections of 
those he had seen so many times in Europe. 

It was during one of the loveliest days in our Indian 
Summer that I had occasion to ride across Westchester 


GYPSIES. 


239 


County, to see a gentleman upon business. The leaves 
had not yet wholly deserted the trees, but the branches 
were becoming visible on them. A profusion of the most 
brilliant hij.es met the eye at every turn. Every leaf 
twinkled like a colored jewel in the sunlight; and the 
peculiar blue *haze of vapor that rolls up from the moist 
earth, hung like a silvery veil over the distant landscape, 
and added its contrasting charms to the rich colors of the 
foreground. At last the waters of the Sound appeared in 
the distance, and I had reached the end of my journey. 
Passing the gate-lodge to an extensive domain, I rode 
through a natural wood of huge oaks and maples, magnifi- 
cent in gorgeous colors, until I came to a turn in the road 
occasioned by a sharp, edgy granite rock that intruded 
itself directly in the way at this point; and, turning this 
huge obstacle, I came in view of something that filled me 
with surprise and delight. It was a gypsy camp. 

As I had not time to examine it — and, indeed, it 
seemed to be entirely deserted — I rode onward rapidly, 
to finish the object of my journey first, determining to pay 
it a visit on my return. On my arrival, I found the ladies* 
of the mansion-house not a little excited about their 
strange visitors. They only wanted to pluck up a little 
•courage, and then they would go to-morrow and investi- 
gate the mysteries of palmistry, although there was some 
little financial difficulty in the way; for in order to insure 
good luck, you know, you must first cross the gypsy’s palm 
with a silver sixpence, — and, alas ! where was a silver 
sixpence to be found ? 

As I rode homeward I had occasion to observe that my 


240 


GYPSIES. 


friend’s domains were, in some places, more extensive than 
valuable. The rising grounds were covered with gigantic 
forest trees, through which the road wound in beautiful 
undulations, bringing into view picturesque glimpses of 
nature, seemingly as if the owner had made all the studies 
for effect peculiar to an English park. After threading a 
mile or more of this forest landscape, the road opened upon 
extensive salt marshes, perfectly level, and extending out 
to the waters of the Sound and the horizon line. % The 
sun, now sinking in the west, appeared like a vast bonfire, 
amidst glowing clouds, and its ruddy light flushed the sur- 
face of the meadows, illuminating every pool and winding 
water creek, with gleams of crimson flame. Another turn 
in the road, and passing through a clump of trees, I rode 
into the camp. It was pitched on the inside of the huge 
gray rock I spoke of, over which hung a few scattered 
maples in all the glory of foliage peculiar to the Indian 
Summer. The vast marshes, spreading out to the horizon 
line, aflded repose and solitude *to the scene. On the side 
opposite the rock, and beyond, the tent, a struggling array 
*of leafless bushes were arrayed with a great variety of old 
frippery, and portions of children’s dresses hung out to dry 
- — a perfect harlequinade of brilliant colors ; and near the 
tent a group of children in motley, with a couple of gypsy 
women seated on the ground, dressed with that peculiar 
taste for picturesque costume for which the rac t e has been 
so often noted, formed a composition which no beholder 
with the least emotion for art could look at without feeling 
an exquisite sense of pleasure. 

They were English gypsies ; the women with the pecul- 


* GYPSIES. 


241 


iar charm of complexion of the race, — clear olive, with a 
blush of red in the cheeks; fine forms* but slender and 
diminutive ; fine features, bright black eyes, and teeth 
which might have been white but for the tobacco pipe. 
Like the Jews, the gypsies are a race, but not a nation. 
But while the Jews usually have fixed abodes, these are 
the true apostles of the ancient and honorable fraternity 
of vagabonds. By profession they are tinkers, farriers, 
poachers, mountebanks, fortune-tellers, beggars, thieves, 
'and sometimes worse. 

To no people does the term outcast so properly belong. 
Formerly it was supposed they came from “ Egypt,” and 
hence the name they bore ; but in the secret language of 
the gypsy tribes, no word of Coptic is to be found, while 
many of Hisdostanee, or e\^n Sanscrit, can be traced, 
• showing clearly their Asiatic origin. And here they are, 
thrown by the wave of over-/opulous Europe upon this 
western hemisphere. A people who have lived under all 
forms of government, and ’yet subject to their own laws ; 
under all religions, ‘yet preserving only some relics of 
Asiatic superstitions ; amidst all languages, yet speaking 
among themselves the language of the East ; ignorant of 
dictionaries and vocabularies, yet teaching this mysterious 
tongue, until it has become the thieves’ language all over 
the world. No laws can restrain them, no benevolence 
reclaim them, no temptation of wealth and ease can induce 
them to adopt a fixed residence, but ever to wander is 
their lot. Living in the midst of nations of mixed races 
which have become homogeneous by intermarriage, these 
singular people preserve the pure blood of the Hindoo for 
16 


242 


GYPSIES 


\ 


thousands of generations, and with it an instinctive habit 
of laziness, of trickery, of voluptuousness. Strange peo- 
ple ! What effect will America, that great amalgam of 
strange peoples, have upon you ? Will you too, gypsies ! 
become Americans and fight for the old flag? Never! 
As there are fixed and wandering stars in the heavens, 
so will there be fixed and wandering tribes on the earth, 
for all time ! 





XXXII. 

^ribate (Cfjeatticals. 

§ AM a medical man by profession, and a quack in 
practice. Now understand me. I am a regular 
practitioner — college-bred — studied with old Dr. 
Trichianosis, got a diploma from the College of Physicians 
and Surgeons, and am empowered legally to do what I 
please with my patients — “ patients on a monument ” 
(Shakespeare), or under one ? he ! he ! — and so far am reg- 
ular. But the quackery lies in the way I practice. To tell 
you the truth, I am by nature a humorist, and would dote 
upon a joke, within the limits of becoming mirth ; but I 
dare not do it. It would ruin my practice ; I should lose 
all my patients, — that is to say, I should lose all of them, 
whereas now I only lose some of them ) so I have schooled 
myself to a degree of seriousness that is as good as a for- 
tune to me. Here is where I applaud myself for being a 
quack. I believe I could even stand by the bedside of old 
Dr. Phineas B. Mumps, my rival, and see him depart, 
without a smile on my lips, although I know the old rascal 
has been trying to get my patients away all his life, and I 
know also that I would have my pick of his as soon as the 
breath was out of his body. But if I show no outward 
and visible signs of the mirth that rages within me, I suf- 


244 


PRIVATE THEATRICAL^. 


fer a great deal from congestion df the jocose membranes. 
That is a complaint not in the books, but it ought to be. 

One very cold winter the poor became so alarmingly 
numerous in our village tjiat the price of bread and coal 
nearly doubled in value. The consequence was that the 
Ladies’ United Tatting and Crochet Association for the 
Amelioration of the Condition of the Meritorious Poor 
held a meeting, and it was determined to give an Enter- 
tainment at the village hall for the benefit of the unfor- 
tunate. But what kind of an enfertainment ? Never had 
anything in our slow and sleepy village been seen beyond 
lectures and negro minstrels ; and so when the proposition 
was made “ to have an amateur theatrical entertainment,” 
some of the elderly female officers of the meeting nearly 
fainted away. The proposition was at once indignantly 
voted <iown; but the thought had taken root, and it was not 
long before it developed itself outside of the Society. Those 
members who had the rosiest cheeks and the brightest eyes 
and the softest curls would persist in asking serious people 
— like myself, for instance, and the clergy of the different 
denominations — whether there really was any harm in the 
performance, if the play had no swearing in it, and the 
funds collected were for a good object. The answers be- 
ing perfectly ’satisfactory, you should have seen how the 
contagion spread! Finally it was arranged that there 
should be an amateur performance ; that the word “ dra- 
matic” should be suppressed, out of regard to the tender 
consciences of several families who would not attend if it 
was called by that name, but who would subscribe for 
tickets if it were simply an “ entertainment.” The busi- 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 


245 


ness of preparation was placed in the hands of a committee 
of gentlemen, and the time of performance fixed at two 
weeks from date by the ladies of the Society — with a re- 
quest that the play should be “ Hamlet.” The committee 
had but little to do in two weeks. They had only to cast the 
piece so as to allot proper persons to the different characters ; 
the performers had to study their parts, rehearse, and get 
ready their costumes ; the stage manager had to provide 
all (the scenery ; and as the rural stage had no conven- 
iences, carpenters were to be suborned to supply the neces- 
sary slides, grooves, gear, and tackle ; the property-man 
was enjoined to get £oils and bowls of poison, skulls and 
spades for the grave-diggers, and everything — so that noth- 
ing should be wanting to prevent our having a lively time 
of it. 

O, how I wanted to play Polonius ! I knew the part 
by heart, but it would ruin me in my professional practice 
if I ever ventured to reveal that I had a mind acute 
enough to discern the points of that wonderful character. 

However, the play of “ Hamlet ” *had to be given up. 
When the committee requested the gentlemen, at a subse- 
quent meeting, to write down their names on a slip of 
paper, with the characters the^ would be willing to assume 
in this celebrated tragedy, they found in the hat nine names 
for Hamlet, and not one for anything else, — all owing to 
the influence of Edwin Booth no doubt. Then in regard 
to the carpenter — he wanted a month at least to prepare 
his fixtures. As for the scenery, that had not been ordered 
yet. Some of the ladies suggested that we might go to 
the New York theatres and borrow some old scenery that 


246 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 


they did not want to use. But that was objected to upon 
the ground that as regular stage scenery was usually thirty, 
forty, or even fifty feet high, and as our amateur stage had 
a clear head-room of only twelve feet, we could not stand 
up the borrowed scenes even if we had them. Upon whrch 
they proposed to play “ Hamlet ” without scenery. On 
consideration it was found this proposition would not an- 
swer. So after due deliberation it was determined to aban- 
don “ Hamlet,” and to play the “ Dead Shot,” with 
“ Bombastes Furioso ” as the after-piece. Six weeks were 
allowed for the preparation of even these slight pieces, but 
then we had nothing ready, and had to get everything 
made. 

The Figaro of the whole affair was Mr. Lempriere, the 
young banker. Under his active management the prepara- 
tions were all completed in due time. It invariably hap- 
pens in amateur performances that something is forgotten 
which spoils the whole play. Mr. Lempriere forgot noth- 
ing. He had the scenery painted and the carpenter’s work 
completed ; he had the broken china and pistols for the 
Dead Shot ; the dash of red paint for the supposed death- 
wound ; the punch-bowl, ladle, pipes, tobacco, foils, and 
boots for Bombastes — everything, in fact, provided, so 
that the actors had nothing to do but to learn their parts. 
Then they were drilled by book R. H. U! E. and C. and 
exit L. H., and all the choruses were rehearsed on various 
pianos in our suburban village ; and nothing was wanting. 
I say nothing was wanting — I am mistaken — one per- 
former was wanting. Every other character in the farce 
and the burlesque was beautifully filled except the part 


PEIVATE THEATEICALS. f 247 

of the tall grenadier in the army of Bombastes. No one 
could be found to take that part. How I wanted to do it \ 
I was fitted for the character, being six feet two inches 
high. As the time rolled on toward the opening night, 
and no one volunteered, my fingers’ ends thrilled with the 
pent-up desire within me. Nobody thought of asking me 
to play the part — the gravest man in Goose Common ! 
So I began to fish for an invitation. I called upon Figaro. 
“ Sir,” said I, in my professional voice, 44 1 see no harm in 
this proposed entertainment, if conducted, as it will be, 
with a due regard to decorum and public opinion. In fact, 
I do not think, grave and serious as is my nature, that 
I would hesitate even to take a part in it myself, provided 
I had no study to perplex me, and that I could be so dis- 
guised that no one would know me, for in all benevolent 
enterprises for the benefit of the poor I am ready to lend 
a helping hand, both professionally and otherwise.” There 
was but one prominent thought in the mind of Figaro, and 
that was how to get some one to play the tall grenadier. 
So after hopping about in a very ridiculous manner, snap- 
ping his fingers, and surveying my tall thin form with evi- 
dent satisfaction, he said, in a whisper, 44 Suppose there 
was just such a character, w r ould you undertake it?” 
44 Ah, my friend,” said I, gravely, 44 do not ask me ; I 
would not participate in a stage dialogue for the world.” 
44 But,” responded Figaro, 44 if I could find a part in which 
you would not have a word to say ; and the make-Up would 
so effectually disguise you that your own wife would not 
know you, would you — just for this once — he willing to 
undertake it for the sake of helping a benevolent enter- 
prise ? ” 


4 


248 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 


“ If there were such a part, and nobody else could be 
had to fill it, I might promise to do it, for the sake of hu- 
man — i — ty ! ” 

“ Then,” said he, taking out his tablets, “ you are 
booked for the tall soldier in the army of Bombastes. 
Here’s the play ; study your part ; no rehearsal needed ; 
I’ll tell nobody, you’ll tell nobody — 

“ ‘ Nobody, nobody, nobody, no! ’ 

and nobody will be the wiser,” and'he went on reciting his 
part — 

“ £ Loved Distaffina ! Now, by my scars I vow, 

Scars got — I haven’t time to tell you how; 

By all the risks my fearless heart hath run, — 

Risks of all shapes, from bludgeon, sword, and gun, 

Steel-traps, the patrol, bailiff shrewd — and dun ; 

% By the great bunch of laurels on my brow, 

’ Ne’er did thy charms exceed their present glow! ’ ” 

But I had to interrupt him and take my leave. 

Doctor Seneca booked for the big soldier in “ Bombastes 
Furioso ! ” How completely I’ll disguise myself, and how 
I’ll astonish them — wife and all ! Lempriere is a banker, 
and knows how to keep a secret ; how I’ll roll mine like a 
rich morsel under the tongue ! Nobody shall ever know 
who played the part of the tall soldier, and I will play it so 
they will all want to know ; $nd won’t I hear of it when I 
visit my patients next, morning ! Let me see what the text 
says : — 

• • • 
“ R. Enter Bombastes, attended by one drummer, one fifer, and two soldiers, 

all very materially differing in size.” , 

I do not know how the others will appear ; but I shall 
very materially differ in size from three of them. 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 


249 


That very night I began to prepare. I could not have 
had a more favorable opportunity. , My wife had gone to 
the United Tatting and Crochet Association, as it was the 
regular night ; my man, Dutch Joe, drove her there in the 
family chariot, which consisted of one horse and a vehicle 
that, for want of a better name, I had christened the Rig- 
marole. That I might not be disturbed, I went down in 
the kitchen to tell the girls they need not attend to the 
office grate, as I would * see to it myself ; that they might 
bring up a pitcher of cold water; and if they wished to 
visit the neighbors’ girls, they might go for a couple of 
hours, which favor they did not refuse. So, going up to 
my office again, I sat down and smilingly began to think 
over affairs. In the first place, I must have a heavy black 
mustache and beard ; they could easily be procured in the 
city. But then my nose was long, straight, and thin — a 
peculiar nose. What was I to do with it ? Over a black 
mustache and beard it would be more conspicuously noted 
— perhaps recognized at once. There was not another 
nose like it in Goose Common. Couldn’t the tip be turned 
up with a thread running behind my ears so as to make a 
snub of it ? I tried it, and it was capital in effect ; but 
the sharp-edged thread was highly irritating to the pugna- 
cious organ. That wouldn’t do.* Could I enlarge my 
nostrils by stuffing them full of cotton ? I tried this ; but 
nature — always ready with contrivances of her own to rid 
herself of incumbrances — came to the rescue with such 
a tremendous sneeze, as I was packing the cotton into its 
place, that it blew both plugs out and across the room. So 
that had to be abandoned. 


I 

250 PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

At last an idea struck me as feasible. We had plenty 
of garden seeds in Dutch Joe’s room, and among the rest 
a quantity of dried Lima beans. I would get a couple of 
these beans, glue them fast with Spaulding’s patent glue 
to the outside of my “ nosterils,” as Chaucer calls them ; 
and as a Lima bean is precisely the shape of a large nostril, 
they would do admirably. Then over them I would lay a 
piece of wet, diaphanous isinglass plaster, which would 
adhere so closely to the bridge and beans of the recon- 
structed organ that all would appear as one ; and then I 
would paint all up to look as showy as possible. My wife 
would not be home for two hours ; I had no professional 
calls to make ; all was quiet indoors ; and it does not take 
long to glue two beans to your nose, cover them with a wet 
plaster, and wait until . it dries, while you are getting the 
carmine paint ready. 

Howbeit the white shiny Limas shone through the thin, 
skin-colored plaster like \vhite blisters — or, to speak pro- 
fessionally, like a couple of cysts provided with plentiful 
supplies of pus. 

While the plaster was gradually drying I fashioned a 
comic eyebrow with burned cork over my left eye ; but 
the first one being a failure I was trying another one higher 
up, and had partly finished number two when I heard the 
door-bell ring. As I supposed the hired girl would attend 
the door I paid no attention to it, but the ringing continu- 
ing, the thought flashed across my mind that both the gyds 
had gone out. So I thought I would peel my nose and 
take off the accoutrements before I opened the door. But 
the plaster \vas dried hard ; and as .the bell kept up a con- 


I 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 251 

tinuous jingle, I thought that somebody might require in- 
stant medical advice, and, nose in hand, I opened the door, 
and in walked the Rev. Dr. Job Baldblather, the eloquent 
Old School Presbyterian divine, whose sermon on last 
Sunday had been levelled at theatrical performances in 
general, and at this entertainment in particular — and 
his wife. He had the richest congregation in Goose Com- 
mon, many of them afflicted with good old-fashioned chronic 
complaints. I was his family physician ; his patronage 
secured the very pearls of his congregation ; and here I 
was, caught with a nose half-dramatized ! Fortunately the 
hall-lamp was only dimly burning, and he had not seen 
much as yet. 

“We saw your office-lamp shining through the blinds,” 
said he, in a pretty gruff - voice, “ and we knew you were 
at home — no, not in the parlor ” — (I was in hopes to get 
them seated there in the parlor in the dark, and under pre- 
tense of getting a light, plunge my nose in warm water and 
relieve it of all incumbrances) — “ no, not in the parlor,’’ 
said he ; “ we will go in the office. Mrs. Baldblather’s 
tonsils are swelled to an enormous size, and she has come 
to you for advice.” 

Could anything be more unfortunate ? In that office 
was a Carcel-lamp of great brilliancy, a burned cork, rouge, 
strips of adhesive plaster, a play -book, and a bowl of Lima 
beans ! Something must be done. I instantly threw a 
newspaper over the dramatic materials, and exposing my 
nasal organ to their astonished view, waited to hear what 
they would say. Great Jones Street ! how it frightened 
them ! Mrs. Baldblather threw up her hands and eyes 


252 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 


and bleated like a lamb ; and the eloquent divine gazed at 
my apparition of a nose with an expression in his spec- 
tacles such as Brutus might have put on when he saw the 
ghost of Caesar’s Roman nose at Philippi ! 

A happy thought rose in my mind. “ You see,” said I, 
“ how poor men of science suffer that multitudes may be 
benefited ! I am trying experiments on my nose. By a 
topical application to the skin an irritation is produced 
which raises the cuticle in the form of a vesicle filled with 
serous fluid. You will perceive,” said I, laying my fore- 
finger upon the right-hand bean, “ the peculiar shape of 
this sack or bag ” — Just then the door-bell rang again, 
but I had now an excuse ready — a plausible one, that 
would explain everything ; and I would not have cared if 
all the congregation of the Rev. Dr. Baldblather called 
upon me ; so, as bold as a lion, I went to the door and 
opened it. 

It was'my friend Figaro. As soon as he caught a dim 
glimpse of my spectre of a nose and comic eyebrow he 
burst into such an uproarious fit of laughter that the house 
echoed with it. “ Capital ! ” he shouted out. “ O, Doc- 
tor, what a genius you have for the comic ! That nose will 
bring; down the house! O ho! ho! ho! You intend to 
paint it red — a true Bardolphian nose ! O ho ! ho ! oh ! ” 
In vain I pulled him by the arm and pointed to the office 
door, and with shrugs and gestures signified that I had com- 
pany. The nose and the double eyebrow ruined all my 
attempts at anything like a remonstrati ve or appealing ex- 
pression. At last I quieted him, whispered the state of the 
case in his ear, opened the study door, and ushered him 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 


253 


into the presence of Dr. Baldblather, who was furiously- 
reading the paper I had used as a screen, while his wife 
was inspecting the dramatic materials which had been 
hidden under it. 

An instant had scarcely elapsed before the sound of 
wheels was heard rapidly approaching, sudden jerks of the 
bell continued uninterruptedly, and I had to admit a third 
visitor. It was Dutch Joe, my gardener, groom, and char- 
ioteer. His head was hanging «down so that he did not 
perceive my altered visage ; his arms were swinging from 
side to side ; to my surprise he was weeping violently. 
“ O, Doctor, your wife is maybe det ! ” “ Dead ? ” 

“Yes, she hat a catfit at de singin’ schule, and I dink she’s 
det and gone by dis dime. All de laties drow der scissor 
and der spools and der neetles ; some for vater vent ; some 
opened der vintoes, some to cry begin ; O, mein Himmel ! 
and some say, ‘Joe, run for de Doctor ! ’ Der old hoss is 
most use up, I trove so quick as you never see ; hooray up, 
Doctor : maybe she ’s det so soon dat you never more Will' 
see if she don’t be alife yet.” Good Heavens ! my head 
swam around ! The awful intelligence brought by J oseph 
had been* heard in the office, and everybody came out in 
the hall. I was bundled into the vehicle as Dr. Baldblather 
whispered in my e?tr, “ This is a judgment upon you ; ” 
and the next moment I was whirling toward the fatal So- 
ciety rooms Where, perhaps, I would be too late to receive 
even a parting recognition from my angel of a wife ! At 
these thoughts I sobbed out aloud, and Joe joined me in a 
howl of sympathetic grief. 

We reached the church, in the basement of which were 


254 


PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 


the rooms of the Society ; down the stairs I flew, hurst 
into the lecture-room, and there found my wife lying upon 
pillows on a sort of sofa, looking as pale as a ghost, but still 
alive. In fact, the rooms having been overheated, was the 
cause of her fainting away, which had so frightened 'Dutch 
Joe. “My angel, what is the matter with you?” I 
cried, as I affectionately folded her in my arms ;• but she 
caught a glimpse of my nose, did not recognize me, gave a 
yawp, and fainted away again as dead as Jephthah’s daugh- 
ter. 

Nearly all the ladies of the U. T. & C. A. screamed and 
flew out of the lecture-room. Joe, who had not had a 
view of my frontispiece before, and who was naturally 
superstitious, gave a yell, and bolted also. The flying con- 
gregation soon brought in the excellent clergyman who had 
charge of the parish to which the United Tatting and Cro- 
chet Association belonged ; they also brought in Dr. 
Phineas B. Mumps, my rival; Dr. Baldblather and his 
wife followed hard upon our heels ; Figaro summoned all 
the dramatis personce ; the Society ladies all flocked inside 
again ; all the village vagabonds gathered about the win- 
dows and peered through them ; my wife had her hands 
chafed, and wet rags wrapped around her head. I went 
to the vestry-room, procured a bowl of hot water, and un- 
nosed myself : my wife recovered, but I lost my very best 
patient. The fault was, not that I had constructed a nose 
of Lima beans, but that I had been caught while making it. 


XXXII. 


{Emits (ftljurd^garii. 

t FRIEND of mine, who had been for many years 
upon the Northwest boundary survey, returned at 
last to his native city. While upon the Pacific 
coast he had made the acquaintance of a young frontiers- 
man — a youth v^ho had been born on the NoVthwestern 
border of Missouri, and whose family, following the 
Western tide of emigration, had at last pitched tents in 
Oregon ; while he, still impelled by the exploration-thirst, 
had wandered up into the remoter wildernesses of Puget 
Sound, on the extreme limits of Washington Territory. 

My friend said he was a singularly well-informed man 
for one who had led such a wandering life in a bookless 
land. Every scrap of printed matter that fell in his way 
he perused with avidity, and being blessed with a memory 
“ like wax to receive, like marble to retain,” whatever he 
read was firmly retained. Besides, he was of such an 
inquiring mind that whenever he met a stranger from the 
States, it would be curious indeed if he did not extract some 
information from him. Thus, by dint of these three fac- 
ulties, he had acquired an astonishing knowledge of our 
Revolutionary history and the histories of the subsequent 
wars, and in many instances could cite with wonderful 


256 


TRINITY CHURCH-YARD. 


accuracy and minuteness a detail of events connected with 
facts, dates, and persons, that might have put to the blush 
many a college-bred youth of his own age. 

My friend the engineer, after his return to New York, 
kept up a correspondence with the Washington Territory 
frontiersman, and one day received a letter from the latter 
stating his intention to visit the great city. He had never 
seen a city in his life. The Aspinwall steamer in which 
he was expected arrived at last, % and in the list of passen- 
gers was the name of the frontiersman. But he did not 
make his appearance at the house of his quondam friend 
until nightfall. By some chance he had wandered into 
Trinity Church-yard, and there passed the day. 

After the customary salutations were over, “ George,” 
said he, addressing the engineer, his eyes dilating with 
wonder as he spoke, “ I have had my very soul moved 
this day with what I have seen. 

“ Sir, I have seen the tomb of Alexander Hamilton, the 
soldier, the patriot, the statesman ! And beside it the 
modest stone that is set over the grave of his wife Eliza, 
who was the daughter of Philip Schuyler, one of Wash- 
ington’s greatest generals. I have seen the monument to 
Albert Gallatin, one of the leaders in the Western whis- 
key insurrection, and afterward so worthy and tried an 
officer of our federal government. I saw there the tomb- 
stone of Michael Cresap, first Captain of the Rifle Bat- 
talion, who died in 1775 — ‘ a son,’ so the inscription runs, 
4 of Colonel Thomas Cresap.’ Surely can this be a son 
of tho cruel Colonel Cresap who murdered in cold blood 
all the family of Logan, the friend of the white man, and 


TRINITY CHURCH-YARD. 


■257 


drew forth the famous message to Lord Dunmore from 
that warrior : ‘ There runs not a drop of my blood in the 
veins of any living creature ! This called on me for re- 
venge. I have fought for it. I have killed many. I have 
fully glutted my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at 
the beams of peace — but do not harbor a thought that 
mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will 
not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to 
mourn for Logan ? No;t one ! ’ 

“ It seemed to me,” said the frontiersman, “ as I read 
the inscription upon the stone of Captain Cresap, as if the 
blood of Logan was crying to me from the ground. Near 
that stood an altar-shaped tomb, on which was an inscrip- 
tion which filled me with awe and reverence. O ! what 
simplicity was there, what filial tenderness, what resigna- 
tion, and what faith ! As if the overcharged heart could 
but repeat the beloved name, and the certain hope of the 
hereafter : — 

u 1 My Mother ! 

The trumpet shall sound, 

And the dead shall arise ! ’ • 

No other words were there. As I read the inscription, I 
could almost fancy the sound of the trumpet echoing 
through space, and the heavens opening. 

“ Near to this tomb,” continued the frontiersman, “ I 
saw another that recalled to my mind Gray’s Elegy : — 

“ ‘ Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? ’ 

This marble monument had once been very elegant, but it 
had fallen into decay ; the railing around it was choked 
17 


258 


TRINITY CHURCH-YARD. 


with weeds and dropping to pieces with rust ; the inscrip- 
tion itself had scaled off so as to be no longer readable ; 
the sepulchral urn that had formerly crowned the summit 
of the structure was now broken from its pedestal, and 
thrust into the arch that ornamented the upper part of the 
tomb, looked like a head that had been decapitated. Near 
to that, was the beautiful tribute to the , memory of the hero, 
Captain James Lawrence, of the frigate Chesapeake ; on 
onel end of it his dying words : ‘ Don’t give up the ship ! ’ 

“ But the saddest of all was the tombstone of the eight 
little children of John and Effie Lewis, recording that 
they died within a few years of each other — the eldest 
being only four years old, and the youngest four months. 
And although they died so long ago that the youngest, if it 
.had lived, would have been a very elderly person now, yet 
they died in their youth ; and so the tears stood in my 
eyes as I thought of the poor, bereaved mother and her 
sorrowing helpmate mourning for their little ones seventy 
years ago. There is something immortal like in the 
memory of the death of a child. You know I lust my 
first boy, and that sorrow will never pass away. 

“ Among the tombs, many were dated nearly a century 
and a half ago. I suppose these things are familiar to 
you, but to me, who never saw anything made or executed 
by human hands more than twenty years old, they were 
the first that I had ever seen of that strange world of 
which I had read so often — the world of the past.” 

It was strange to think of this Western man regarding 
the monuments in Trinity Church-yard with the same feel- 
ings that we would look upon the Parthenon, or the Pyra- 
mids, or the Sphinx, or on the columns of Luxor ! 


TRINITY CHURCH-YARD. 


259 


“ Remember,” said my friend the engineer, “ that this 
man, who was so wonder-struck at the antiquity of the 
church-yard at the head of Wall Street, had often seen in 
the forest of Oregon trees as old at least as the Pyramids, 
and a quarter as old as we Christians reckon the globe to 
be.” 

But inanimate things, to awaken human interest, must 
possess in themselves some traditional connection with 
humanity. The trees in the forests of Oregon may be 
even older than the cedars of Lebanon, but they do not 
recall the splendors of the court of Solomon, nor the armed 
hosts of Crusaders, who reposed under the spreading 
branches of the latter wlien the Cross and the Crescent 
contended for possession of the holy walls of Jerusalem ! 


XXXTV. 


potties fot ©Ih itten. • 

t BOUT eight miles from Stratford-on-Avon, the 
honored birth and burial-place of Shakespeare, 
stands the pleasant little town of Warwick, upon 
the same river, the most beautiful of English rivers,*- — 
the Avon. If you are a moralist, and prone to compare 
the pomps and vanities of the world with the humblest 
memorials of departed genius, you need but look upon the 
stone-paved kitchen and the two-story bedroom ‘of the 
house where the famous dramatist first drew breath, and 
then upon the lordly towers and battlements of Warwick 
Castle, to satisfy yourself that imagination has a more 
lasting hold upon the world than reality ; that the creator 
of fictitious kings, Shakespeare, has a wider and more 
enduring fame than even the King-maker, the last of the 
Barons, the proud Bichard Neville, Earl of Warwick, 
who raised up and pulled down real kings at his pleasure. 

It was while enjoying thQ reflections which such contrasts 
will naturally awaken in every human breast, that I loi- 
tered through the pleasant street of Warwick; now lean- 
ing over the stone bridge, beneath which flows the Avon, 
.and looking lower down to the broken, ivy-covered arch of 
ithe old bridge, built in the time of the Crusades, beyond 


HOMES FOR OLD MEN. 


261 


which are the lofty walls of the castle ; or, perchance, 
surveying with wonder (ind admiration the beautiful 
Beauchamp Chapel ; or thinking of the stout hero, Guy^ 
of W arwick, the redoubtable lover of fair Phoelice, — that ** 
I wandered in the direction of one of the town-gates, over 
which is built a little chapel, and presently saw a quaint 
building of the past ages, that at once ’arrested my atten- 
tion. 

It was a Home for Old Men. 

Such is the inscription over the front of the hospital of 
St. John : — 

“Hospitivm Collegiatvm, 

Roberti Dvdleii, Comitis 
Leycestrre, 

15 ( Bear ) 71 

< and > 

Droit et ( Ragged Staff. ) Loyal.” 

Founded nearly three hundred years ago by the ambi- 
tious Earl of Leicester, at that time the princely suitor to 
the hand of Elizabeth ; the magnificent Lord of Kenil- 
worth ; the ambitious pretender to the princely throne of 
Holland (and so sure of it, that medals were struck to 
commemorate the event), — this friend and enemy of Sir 
Walter Raleigh ; this faithless relative of Sir Philip Sid- 
ney this intriguing, splendid, ambitious voluptuary, w T ho 
may even have connived at the assassination of his loving 
wife, dear Amy Robsart, that he might gain the cruel 
hand of England’s greatest queen ; this man, unprincipled, 
covetous, selfish, and unscrupulous, in the midst of his 
profligate career, his lust of power, and his lust of wealth, 
had so much of human instinct in him, that he, out of his 


V 


262 ' HOMES FOR OLD MEN. 

superfluity, endowed, in the pleasant town of Warwick, 
“ A Home for Old Men.” The name of the Earl of 
Leicester now is a by-word and a reproach ; his memory 
is connected with outrage, cruelty, and baffled ambition ; 
Kenilworth is in ruins ; but this endowment, after a lapse 
of three hundred years, still remains living and pregnant 
with life, and will be li$te a taper shining through the dark, 
to show for future ages that 

“ So shines a good deed in a wicked world.” 

That old hospitium is a shining good deed in the minds 
of all men. It is not a pauper asylum. Its inmates are 
entitled to the places they occupy by merit, not awarded 
a place by favoritism or intrigue. The fact of being there 
makes them respected. 

The Hospital of St. John, with its spacious court and 
gardens, was established in the reign of King Richard II., 
for retired soldiers, and purchased by Robert Dudley, Earl 
of Leicester, in 1571. * 

At the time of my visit, I was shown into a room 
where a Waterloo hero, with his two swords crossed in 
the ancient window, was comfortably reading his Bible. 
All its inmates are old soldiers. A hundred years ago, it 
was an asylum for the veterans of Louisburg and Quebec. 
Fifty years before, it was a receptacle for the worn-out 
soldiers of Marlborough and Prince Eugene ; and before 
that it had afforded an asylum to the soldiers of Richard 
III., or the Duke of Richmond ; before that, it no doubt 
sheltered the veterans of Richard II., or those of his am- 
bitious and successful rival, Henry Bolingbroke, afterward 
Henry IV. 


HOMES FOB OLD MEN. 263 

A queer little sanctuary for old age ! May tne sun 
shine ever on its venerable front, with its pointed gables, 
oak frame-work, and little, diamond-shaped window-panes ! 
It can accommodate twenty pensioners, the youngest old 
boy being over sixty years of age ; the oldest over eighty. 
There are some rules and regulations, about the place sug- 
gestive oftby-gone days. None of the veterans are allowed 
to go into the streets of Warwick without wearing a long 
black surtout, without sleeves, that reaches almost to their 
heels ; and behind, a broad, black lappet, with a silver 
badge, nearly as big as a door-plate, with the arms (in 
relief) of the Dudleys, — “ The Bear and Ragged Staff ; ” 
the latter cognizance you find in various forms throughout 
the building, one in the entrance-hall, worked in in tapestry 
by poor Amy Robsart. The pensioners are not allowed 
to have their wives, hawks, nor hounds in the building. 
Each one receives five shillings sterling every Thursday, 
and seventeen sovereigns every quarter. I visited the 
chapel, in which they are allowed only to hear the ser- 
vices, and in which they are not allowed to take Commu- 
nion ; the latter ceremony must take place at the parish 
church. The Master must be a clergyman, and his income 
is four hundred pounds a year, and house-rent free. There 
is a fine old garden, with twenty plots set apart, so that 
each pensioner can cultivate his little flower-patch ; a sum- 
mer-house, to smoke or play draughts in ; a chapel, in 
which service is held nine times a week ; and here they 
live, as happy and contented a set of old fogies as you will 
find in the world. 

In the neighboring town of Coventry are two asylums 


264 


HOMES FOR OLD MEN. 


for old people : one founded in 1529 by William Ford, a 
merchant of Coventry, for the reception of 46 aged persons 
of good name and fame,” now occupied by aged females 
only, of which there are eighteen or twenty ; and the 
other, Bond’s Hospital, was founded in 1506 by Thomas 
Bond, a wealthy draper, and Mayor of Coventry, for the 
reception of 44 ten poor men, and a woman to dish their 
meat and drink.” These charitable institutions, frqin sue? 
cessive donations, have considerably augmented their rev- 
enues. Instead of ten poor men, the funds of Bond’s 
Hospital now support forty-five residents and non-residents. 
Such institutions are scattered benefactions in the various 
towns of England, but we need not stop to enumerate 
them. Passing fi’om these to the magnificent structures 
of Greenwich and Chelsea, with their thousands of pen- 
sioners, and the no less noble endowment of Louis XIV., 
the Hotel des Invalides, swarming with invalid soldiers, 
both officers and men, the pride and glory of France, and 
the fitting tomb of Napoleon, let us think for a moment 
of the “poor old men” of our own country. 

Is there anything more cheerless in prospect than a 
lonely old age ? In vain do we seek to provide for a com- 
fortable future by the accumulation of wealth, or feel a 
certainty in the anticipation of laying in a stock of happi- 
ness by a tender and loving care of our children. Alas ! 
the pursuit of wealth is ever attended with vicissitudes, 
and children do not always survive their parents, or, if 
they do, sometimes want of means, or cold neglect, or 
(worse than all) ingratitude steps in, and then the old man 
is lonely indeed. For. when he has arrived at a certain 


HOMES FOR OLD MEN. 


265 


age, rarely does he carry with him the friends of his youth, 
and few old men there are who do not yearn for the society 
of old companions. 

Provide, then, an asylum for old men, ye that are able 
to do it, that the example so set may enable you to be 
comforted, perchance, in like manner when length of years 
and feebleness and privations overtake you. 

The late Robert Minturn had a vague idea floating in 
his mind to found such an asylum. It never took any 
definite shape, unfortunately, before death removed this 
estimable gentleman from our midst. He owned about 
eleven acres of ground on Ward’s Island, which, had he 
lived, he ill tended to devote to this charitable object, and, 
by his will, he left it to St. Luke’s Hospital for that pur- 
pose. The occupation of the island by the numerous 
hospitals (among which I may mention an insane hospital 
of two hundred and fifty patients) of the Commissioners 
of Emigration, and those under the care of the Commis- 
sioners of Charity and Correction, make this otherwise 
beautiful spot manifestly unfit for the purpose. But it is 
to be hoped that before long the project will become prac- 
ticable. The increasing want of the commissioners of the 
above-named charities will probably lead to the purchase 
of these eleven acres by them, and the proceeds can be 
applied to aid in establishing a home for old men. 

There are already asylums for aged and indigent females, 
under the care of benevolent ladies. Why not for old 
men also? It seems to me, that, besides the Minturn 
asylum, a fund might be established to found a home for 
the veterans of the printing fraternity. In a future num- 
ber we shall discuss this suggestion. 




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